THE  WHITE 
INDIAN  BOY 

Wilson 
Driggs 


In  Pioneer  Life  Series 


BANCROFT 
LIBRARY 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


Myers,  Boise,  Idaho 

Shoshone  Falls  of  the  Snake  River,  Idaho ;  one  of  the  wonder  scenes 
in  the  land  of  Washakie's  tribe. 


Pioneer  Life  Series 
The 

White  Indian  Boy 

The  Story  of  Uncle  Nick 
Among  the  Shoshones 


J 

IT  N:  Wilson,  1*4* 
// 

Revised  and  Edited  by 
Howard  R.  Driggs 

Professor  of  English,  School  of  Education 
University  of  Utah 


Illustrated  with  drawings  by 
F.  N.  Wilson 


Yonkers-on-Hudson,  New  York 

World  Book   Company 
1922 


WORLD  BOOK  COMPANY 

THE  HOUSE  OF  APPLIED  KNOWLEDGE 
Established,  1905,  by  Caspar  W.  Hodgson 

YONKERS-ON-HUDSON,  NEW  YORK 
2126  PRAIRIE  AVENUE,  CHICAGO 

The  number  of  men  and  worn  en  who  played 
a  part  in  the  conquest  and  settlement  of 
the  Great  West  grows  smaller  year  by  year, 
and  the  passing  of  these  plainsmen  and 
mountaineers  marks  the  close  of  an  era  in 
our  national  life.  To  put  into  permanent 
form,  as  has  been  done  in  this  book,  a  pio 
neer's  recollections  of  his  early  days,  with 
their  trials  and  adventures,  is  to  make 
a  certain  contribution  to  history.  Such  a 
record  shows  us  the  courage,  perseverance, 
and  hardihood  with  which  the  foundations 
of  the  nation  were  laid,  and  to  read  it  is 
to  watch  a  state  in  the  making.  As  a  story 
of  the  days  when  Indian  tribes  still  roamed 
the  plains,  this  book  will  have  for  boys  and 
girls  all  the  interest  of  a  tale  of  adventure. 
It  is  hoped  that  it  will  also  give  them  a 
realization  of  the  hardships  and  dangers 
so  manfully  faced  by  the  settlers  of  the 
West  and  will  implant  in  them  a  desire 
to  prove  themselves  worthy  successors  to 
those  builders  of  the  nation.  Other  vol 
umes  of  the  Pioneer  Life  Series  will  follow 
The  White  Indian  Boy 


PLS:WDWIB-3 


Copyright,  1919,  by  World  Book  Company 

Copyright  in  Great  Britain 

All  rights  reserved 

PRINTED   IN  U.  8.  A. 


BANCROFT 
LJBRARY 

AN   INTRODUCTION  TO  UNCLE  NICK 

IF  you  ever  go  to  the  Yellowstone  Park  by  way  of  Jack 
son's  Hole,  you  will  most  likely  pass  through  Wilson, 
Wyoming.  It  is  a  picturesque  little  village  situated  at 
the  foot  of  the  Teton  Mountains.  A  clear  stream,  rightly 
named  Fish  Creek,  winds  its  way  through  the  place.  On 
the  very  edge  of  this  sparkling  mountain  stream  stands 
a  log  cabin.  The  cabin  is  so  near  the  creek,  indeed,  that 
one  might  stand  in  the  dooryard  and  catch  fish.  And 
this  is  what  "Uncle  Nick"  Wilson,  who  lived  in  the  cabin, 
has  done  many  a  time.  That  is  a  "true  fish  story,"  I  am 
sure,  because  I  caught  two  lively  trout  myself  last  sum 
mer  in  this  same  creek  only  a  few  rods  from  the  cabin. 

Who  was  Uncle  Nick  Wilson?  you  ask.  He  was  an 
old  pioneer  after  whom  this  frontier  town  was  named. 
He  was  the  man,  too,  who  wrote  this  story  book.  You 
would  have  liked  Uncle  Nick,  I  know.  He  was  a  rather 
short,  round-faced  man  with  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 
He  took  things  easily ;  he  spoke  in  a  quiet  voice ;  he  was 
never  too  busy  to  help  his  neighbors;  he  liked  a  good 
joke ;  he  was  always  ready  to  chat  awhile ;  and  he  never 
failed  to  have  a  good  story  to  tell,  especially  to  the  children. 

Uncle  Nick  had  one  peculiarity.  He  did  not  like  to 
take  off  his  hat,  even  when  he  went  into  a  house.  I 
often  wondered  why,  but  I  did  not  like  to  ask  him.  One 
day,  however,  some  one  told  me  the  reason.  It  was 
because  he  had  once  been  shot  in  the  head  with  an  arrow 
by  an  Indian.  The  scar  was  still  there. 

From  outward  appearances  one  would  hardly  have 
guessed  that  Uncle  Nick's  life  had  been  so  full  of  ex 
citing  experiences.  But  when  he  was  sitting  about  the 
campfire  at  night  or  at  the  fireside  with  a  group  of  boys 
and  girls,  he  would  often  get  to  telling  his  tales  of  the 
Indians  and  the  Pony  Express;  and  his  hearers  would 
never  let  him  stop.  My  own  two  boys  never  got  sleepy 


vi  An  Introduction  to  Uncle  Nick 

when  Uncle  Nick  was  in  the  house ;  they  would  keep  call 
ing  for  his  stories  again  and  again. 

This  was  one  reason  why  he  wrote  this  story  book. 
He  wanted  boys  and  girls  to  have  the  pleasure  of  reading 
his  stories  as  often  as  they  pleased.  •  How  he  was  induced 
to  write  it  is  an  interesting  story  in  itself. 

Some  years  ago  two  professors  of  a  certain  Western 
university  were  making  a  trip  with  their  families  to  the 
Yellowstone  Park  by  way  of  Jackson's  Hole  trail.  As 
they  were  passing  through  Wilson,  one  of  the  women  in 
the  party  met  with  a  serious  accident.  Her  little  boy  had 
got  among  the  horses,  and  the  mother,  in  trying  to  save 
the  child  from  harm,  was  knocked  down  and  trampled. 

Help  must  be  had  at  once ;  but  how  to  get  it  was  a 
problem.  The  nearest  doctor  was  over  sixty  miles  away. 
While  the  unfortunate  travelers  were  worrying  about  what 
to  do,  Uncle  Nick's  wife  came  to  the  rescue.  She  quietly 
assumed  command  of  affairs,  directed  the  making  of  a 
litter,  and  insisted  that  the  wounded  lady  be  carried  to  her 
cabin  home  a  short  distance  away.  Then  she  turned 
nurse,  dressed  the  wounds,  and  attended  the  sufferer 
until  she  was  well  enough  to  resume  the  journey. 

The  party  meantime  camped  near  by,  and  whiled  away 
about  three  weeks  in  fishing  and  hunting  and  enjoying 
Uncle  Nick's  stories  of  the  Wild  West.  Every  night  they 
would  sit  about  the  cabin  fire  listening  to  the  old  frontiers 
man  tell  his  "Injun  stories"  and  his  other  thrilling  ad 
ventures  of  the  early  days.  They  felt  that  these  stories 
should  be  written  for  everybody  to  enjoy.  They  were 
so  enthusiastic  in  their  desire  to  have  it  done  that  Uncle 
Nick  finally  consented  to  try  to  write  them. 

It  was  a  hard  task  for  him.  He  had  never  attended 
school  a  day  in  his  life ;  but  his  wife  had  taught  him  his 
alphabet,  and  he  had  learned  to  read  and  spell  in  some 


An  Introduction  to  Uncle  Nick  vii 

kind  of  way.  He  got  an  old  typewriter  and  set  to  work. 
Day  by  day  for  several  months  he  clicked  away,  until 
most  of  his  stories  were  told.  And  here  they  are  —  true 
stories,  of  real  Indians,  as  our  pioneer  parents  knew  them 
about  seventy  years  ago. 

The  book  gives  the  nearest  and  clearest  of  views  of 
Indian  home-life;  it  is  filled,  too,  with  stirring  incidents 
of  Indian  warfare,  of  the  Pony  Express  and  Overland 
Stage,  and  other  exciting  frontier  experiences. 

Uncle  Nick  may  have  had  no  schooling  except  as  he 
got  it  in  the  wilds,  but  he  certainly  learned  how  to  tell  a 
story  well.  The  charm  of  his  style  lies  in  its  Robinson 
Crusoe  simplicity  and  its  touches  of  Western  humor. 

Best  of  all,  the  stories  Uncle  Nick  tells  are  true.  For 
many  months  he  was  a  visitor  at  our  home.  To  listen 
to  this  kindly,  honest  old  man  was  to  believe  his  words. 
But  the  truth  of  what  he  tells  is  proved  by  the  words  of 
many  other  persons  who  knew  him  well,  and  others  who 
have  had  similar  experiences.  For  several  years  I  have 
been  proving  these  stories  by  talking  with  other  pioneers, 
mountaineers,  pony  riders,  students  of  Indian  life,  and 
even  Indians  themselves.  Their  words  have  unfailingly 
borne  out  the  statements  of  the  writer  of  this  book.  No 
pretense  is  made  that  this  volume  is  without  error.  It 
certainly  is  accurate,  however,  in  practically  every  detail, 
and  true  to  the  customs  and  the  spirit  of  the  Indian  and 
pioneer  life  it  portrays. 

Professor  Franklin  T.  Baker  of  Columbia  University, 
who  read  the  book  in  manuscript,  has  pronounced  the 
book  "  a  rare  find,  and  a  distinctive  contribution  to  the 
literature  that  reflects  our  Western  life." 

The  rugged,  kindly  man  who  lived  through  the  scenes 
herein  pictured  has  passed  away.  He  died  at  Wilson,  the 
town  he  founded,  in  December,  1915,  during  the  seventy- 


vi  An  Introduction  to  Uncle  Nick 

when  Uncle  Nick  was  in  the  house ;  they  would  keep  call 
ing  for  his  stories  again  and  again. 

This  was  one  reason  why  he  wrote  this  story  book. 
He  wanted  boys  and  girls  to  have  the  pleasure  of  reading 
his  stories  as  often  as  they  pleased.  •  How  he  was  induced 
to  write  it  is  an  interesting  story  in  itself. 

Some  years  ago  two  professors  of  a  certain  Western 
university  were  making  a  trip  with  their  families  to  the 
Yellowstone  Park  by  way  of  Jackson's  Hole  trail.  As 
they  were  passing  through  Wilson,  one  of  the  women  in 
the  party  met  with  a  serious  accident.  Her  little  boy  had 
got  among  the  horses,  and  the  mother,  in  trying  to  save 
the  child  from  harm,  was  knocked  down  and  trampled. 

Help  must  be  had  at  once ;  but  how  to  get  it  was  a 
problem.  The  nearest  doctor  was  over  sixty  miles  away. 
While  the  unfortunate  travelers  were  worrying  about  what 
to  do,  Uncle  Nick's  wife  came  to  the  rescue.  She  quietly 
assumed  command  of  affairs,  directed  the  making  of  a 
litter,  and  insisted  that  the  wounded  lady  be  carried  to  her 
cabin  home  a  short  distance  away.  Then  she  turned 
nurse,  dressed  the  wounds,  and  attended  the  sufferer 
until  she  was  well  enough  to  resume  the  journey. 

The  party  meantime  camped  near  by,  and  whiled  away 
about  three  weeks  in  fishing  and  hunting  and  enjoying 
Uncle  Nick's  stories  of  the  Wild  West.  Every  night  they 
would  sit  about  the  cabin  fire  listening  to  the  old  frontiers 
man  tell  his  "Injun  stories"  and  his  other  thrilling  ad 
ventures  of  the  early  days.  They  felt  that  these  stories 
should  be  written  for  everybody  to  enjoy.  They  were 
so  enthusiastic  in  their  desire  to  have  it  done  that  Uncle 
Nick  finally  consented  to  try  to  write  them. 

It  was  a  hard  task  for  him.  He  had  never  attended 
school  a  day  in  his  life ;  but  his  wife  had  taught  him  his 
alphabet,  and  he  had  learned  to  read  and  spell  in  some 


An  Introduction  to  Uncle  Nick  vii 

kind  of  way.  He  got  an  old  typewriter  and  set  to  work. 
Day  by  day  for  several  months  he  clicked  away,  until 
most  of  his  stories  were  told.  And  here  they  are  —  true 
stories,  of  real  Indians,  as  our  pioneer  parents  knew  them 
about  seventy  years  ago. 

The  book  gives  the  nearest  and  clearest  of  views  of 
Indian  home-life ;  it  is  filled,  too,  with  stirring  incidents 
of  Indian  warfare,  of  the  Pony  Express  and  Overland 
Stage,  and  other  exciting  frontier  experiences. 

Uncle  Nick  may  have  had  no  schooling  except  as  he 
got  it  in  the  wilds,  but  he  certainly  learned  how  to  tell  a 
story  well.  The  charm  of  his  style  lies  in  its  Robinson 
Crusoe  simplicity  and  its  touches  of  Western  humor. 

Best  of  all,  the  stories  Uncle  Nick  tells  are  true.  For 
many  months  he  was  a  visitor  at  our  home.  To  listen 
to  this  kindly,  honest  old  man  was  to  believe  his  words. 
But  the  truth  of  what  he  tells  is  proved  by  the  words  of 
many  other  persons  who  knew  him  well,  and  others  who 
have  had  similar  experiences.  For  several  years  I  have 
been  proving  these  stories  by  talking  with  other  pioneers, 
mountaineers,  pony  riders,  students  of  Indian  life,  and 
even  Indians  themselves.  Their  words  have  unfailingly 
borne  out  the  statements  of  the  writer  of  this  book.  No 
pretense  is  made  that  this  volume  is  without  error.  It 
certainly  is  accurate,  however,  in  practically  every  detail, 
and  true  to  the  customs  and  the  spirit  of  the  Indian  and 
pioneer  life  it  portrays. 

Professor  Franklin  T.  Baker  of  Columbia  University, 
who  read  the  book  in  manuscript,  has  pronounced  the 
book  "  a  rare  find,  and  a  distinctive  contribution  to  the 
literature  that  reflects  our  Western  life." 

The  rugged,  kindly  man  who  lived  through  the  scenes 
herein  pictured  has  passed  away.  He  died  at  Wilson,  the 
town  he  founded,  in  December,  1915,  during  the  seventy- 


viii  An  Introduction  to  Uncle  Nick 

third  year  of  his  age.  But  he  has  left  for  us  this  tablet 
to  his  memory,  a  simple  story  of  a  simple  man  who  lived 
bravely  and  cheerily  in  the  storm  and  stress  of  earlier  days, 
taking  his  part  even  from  boyhood  with  the  full  measure 
of  a  man. 

HOWARD  R.  DRIGGS 


AUTHOR'S  FOREWORD 

You  have  no  doubt  read  or  heard  stories  of  the  great  wild 
West.  Perhaps  you  have  even  listened  to  some  gray- 
haired  man  or  woman  tell  tales  of  the  Indians  and  the 
trappers,  who  roamed  over  the  hills  and  plains.  They 
may  have  told  you,  too,  of  the  daring  Pony  Express  riders 
who  used  to  go  dashing  along  the  wild  trails  over  the 
prairies  and  mountains  and  desert,  carrying  the  mails,  and 
of  the  Overland  men  who  drove  their  stages  loaded  with 
letters  and  passengers  along  the  same  dangerous  roads. 

I  know  something  about  those  stirring  early  times. 
More  than  sixty  years  of  my  life  have  been  spent  on  the 
Western  frontiers,  with  the  pioneers,  among  the  Indians, 
as  a  pony  rider,  a  stage  driver,  a  mountaineer,  and  a 
ranchman. 

I  have  taken  my  experiences  as  they  came  to  me,  much 
as  a  matter  of  course,  not  thinking  of  them  as  especially 
unusual  or  exciting.  Many  other  men  have  had  similar 
experiences.  They  were  all  bound  up  in  the  life  we  had 
to  live  in  making  the  conquest  of  the  West.  Others 
seem,  however,  to  find  the  stories  of  my  life  interesting. 
My  grandchildren  and  other  children,  and  even  grown 
people,  ask  me  again  and  again  to  tell  these  tales  of  the 
earlier  days ;  so  I  have  begun  to  feel  that  they  may  be 
worth  telling  and  keeping. 

That  is  why  I  finally  decided  to  write  them.  It  has 
taken  almost  more  courage  to  do  this  than  it  did  actually 
to  live  through  some  of  the  exciting  experiences.  I  have 
not  had  the  privilege  of  attending  schools,  so  it  is  very  hard 
for  me  to  tell  my  story  with  the  pen ;  but  perhaps  I  may 
be  able  to  give  my  readers,  young  and  old,  some  pleasure 
and  help  them  to  get  a  clearer,  truer  picture  of  the  real 
wild  West  as  it  was  when  the  pioneers  first  blazed  their 
way  into  the  land, 

"UNCLE  NICK"  WILSON 

ix 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION.        .        . v 

By  Howard  R.  Driggs,  telling  who  Uncle  Nick  was ; 
of  his  home  in  Jackson's  Hole,  Wyoming,  and  the  story 
of  how  the  book  came  to  be  written 

CHAPTER 

1.  PIONEER  DAYS          . 1 

A  sketch  of  the  pioneer  days  in  the  West  —  Indian 
troubles  —  Account  of  desert  tribes  and  Shoshones 

2.  MY  LITTLE  INDIAN  BROTHER 8 

How  Nick  learns  the  Indian  language 

3.  OFF  WITH  THE  INDIANS 12 

Nick  joins  Washakie's  tribe  as  adopted  son  of  the 
chief's  mother  —  Experience  in  getting  to  the  tribe 

4.  THE  GREAT  ENCAMPMENT 20 

The  gathering  of  the  Shoshone  nation  in  Deer  Lodge 
Valley,  Montana 

5.  BREAKING  CAMP       .        .- 28 

Story  of  the  Buffalo  hunt  —  Preparing  meat  for  winter 

6.  VILLAGE  LIFE 33 

Winter  experiences  in  the  Indian  village  in  Idaho 

7.  MY  INDIAN  MOTHER        .......      39 

An  Indian  mother's  sorrow  —  How  she  came  to  want 
a  white  papoose  —  Love  of  the  red  mother  for  the 
white  child 

8.  THE  CROWS      . 44 

Struggles  of  the  Shoshones  with  their  rival  enemy  — 
Scares  and  war  preparation 

9.  PAPOOSE  TROUBLES 57 

Breaking  Indian  ponies  —  A  fight  with  bears 

10.  A  LONG  JOURNEY     .        .        .        .  .        .        .69 

Wanderings  of  Washakie's  tribe  through  the  Idaho 
country  on  their  trip  to  market  their  skins  and  robes 

11.  THE  SNOWY  MOONS 79 

Another  winter  with  the  Indians  —  Teaching  the 
Indians  the  ways  of  the  white  man  —  Days  of  mourn 
ing 

12.  THE  FIERCE  BATTLE 89 

Fight  for  the  buffalo  grounds  —  Description  of  the 
battle  in  which  Washakie  settled  the  question  of 
boundary  lines 


Contents  xi 

CHAPTER  PAOE 

13.  LIVELY  TIMES .98 

An  accident  —  Medicine  man  doctoring  and  other 
Indian  practices  in  healing 

14.  OLD  MOROGONAI 106 

The  old  Shoshone  arrow  maker  and  his  stories  of  early 
times  —  Memories  of  Lewis  and  Clark 

15.  THE  BIG  COUNCIL 112 

Indian  chiefs  confer  as  to  what  shall  be  done  with 
the  white  boy 

16.  HOMEWARD  BOUND 119 

Nick,  equipped  with  ponies  and  Indian  trappings, 
returns  to  tell  his  own  story  of  how  he  left  home 

17.  THE  YEAR  OF  THE  MOVE        .        .        .  .        .     128 

The  coming  of  Johnston's  army  to  Utah  and  the 
leaving  of  their  homes  by  the  people  —  Nick  shows 
his  skill  at  riding  wild  horses 

18.  THE  PONY  EXPRESS .139 

Nick  chosen  as  a  rider  —  His  experiences  carrying  the 
mail  —  Shot  by  an  Indian 

19.  JOHNSTON  PUNISHES  THE  INDIANS 157 

Nick  as  a  guide  for  the  United  States  troops  —  The 
battle  in  the  desert 

20.  THE  OVERLAND  STAGE 167 

Experiences  of  Nick  as  a  driver  of  the  Overland 

21.  A  TERRIBLE  JOURNEY      .......     176 

Establishing  the  mail  route  from  Idaho  to  Montana 
—  The  struggle  in  the  snow 

22.  MY  OLD  SHOSHONE  FRIENDS   ......     192 

After  experiences  with  the  Indians  —  Hunting  for  the 
Indian  mother's  grave  —  Washakie 

23.  TRAPPING  WITH  AN  INDIAN      ......     197 

Nick  spends  a  winter  as  a  trapper  —  Description  of 
the  work 

24.  WORKING  ON  THE  INDIAN  RESERVATION          .         .         .     202 

Nick  in  government  employ  —  Troubles  in  getting 
the  tribe  to  settle  down 

25.  FRONTIER  TROUBLES 207 

Capturing  a  band  of  cattle  thieves  —  A  chase  after 
Indian  horse-thieves  —  The  Jackson's  Hole  Indian 
trouble  —  Closing  words 

GLOSSARY  219 


r 


The  Western  trail  in  the  early  days. 


CHAPTER  ONE 

PIONEER   DAYS 

I  WAS  born  in  Illinois  in  1842.  I  crossed  the  plains  by 
ox  team  and  came  to  Utah  in  1850.  My  parents  settled 
in  Grantsville,  a  pioneer  village  just  south  of  the  Great 
Salt  Lake.  To  protect  themselves  from  the  Indians,  the 
settlers  grouped  their  houses  close  together  and  built  a 
high  wall  all  around  them.  Some  of  the  men  would 
stand  guard  while  others  worked  in  the  fields.  The 
cattle  had  to  be  herded  very  closely  during  the  day,  and 
corralled  at  night  with  a  strong  guard  to  keep  them  from 
being  stolen.  But  even  with  all  our  watchfulness  we  lost 
a  good  many  of  them.  The  Indians  would  steal  in  and 
drive  our  horses  and  cows  away  and  kill  them.  Some 
times  they  killed  the  people,  too. 

We  built  a  log  schoolhouse  in  the  center  of  our  fort, 
and  near  it  we  erected  a  very  high  pole,  up  which  we  could 
run  a  white  flag  as  a  signal  if  the  Indians  attempted  to 
run  off  our  cattle,  or  attack  the  town  or  the  men  in  the 
fields.  In  this  log  schoolhouse  two  old  men  would  stay, 
taking  turns  at  watching  and  giving  signals  when  neces- 

1 


£  The  White  Indian  Boy 

sary,  by  raising  the  flag  in  the  daytime,  or  by  beating  a 
drum  at  night.  For  we  had  in  the  schoolhouse  a  big 
bass  drum  to  rouse  the  people,  and  if  the  Indians  made  a 
raid,  one  of  the  guards  would  thump  on  the  old  thing. 

When  the  people  heard  the  drum,  all  the  women  and 
children  were  supposed  to  rush  for  the  schoolhouse  and 
the  men  would  hurry  for  the  cow  corral  or  take  their 
places  along  the  wall.  Often  in  the  dead  hours  of  the 
night  when  we  were  quietly  sleeping,  we  would  be  startled 
by  the  booming  old  drum.  Then  you  would  hear  the 
youngsters  coming  and  squalling  from  every  direction. 
You  bet  I  was  there  too.  Yes,  sir,  many  is  the  time  I 
have  run  for  that  old  schoolhouse  clinging  to  my  mother's 
apron  and  bawling  "like  sixty";  for  we  all  expected  to 
be  filled  with  arrows  before  we  could  get  there.  We  could 
not  go  outside  of  the  wall  without  endangering  our  lives, 
and  when  we  would  lie  down  at  night  we  never  knew  what 
would  happen  before  morning. 

The  savages  that  gave  us  the  most  trouble  were  called 
Gosiutes.  They  lived  in  the  deserts  of  Utah  and  Nevada. 
Many  of  them  had  been  banished  into  the  desert  from 
other  tribes  because  of  crimes  they  had  committed.  The 
Gosiutes  were  a  mixed  breed  of  good  and  bad  Indians. 

They  were  always  poorly  clad.  In  the  summer  they 
went  almost  naked ;  but  in  winter  they  dressed  themselves 
in  robes  made  by  twisting  and  tying  rabbit  skins  together. 
These  robes  were  generally  all  they  had  to  wear  during 
the  day  and  all  they  had  to  sleep  in  at  night. 

They  often  went  hungry,  too.  The  desert  had  but  little 
food  to  give  them.  They  found  some  edible  roots,  the 
sego,  and  tintic,  which  is  a  kind  of  Indian  potato,  like  the 
artichoke ;  they  gathered  sunflower  and  balzamoriza 1 

1  Sometimes  called  "  spring  sunflower."  It  has  a  blossom  much 
like  the  sunflower,  and  velvety  leaves.  It  is  common  in  parts  of 
the  West. 


Pioneer  Days  3 

seeds,  and  a  few  berries.  The  pitch  pine  tree  gave  them 
pine  nuts ;  and  for  meat  they  killed  rabbits,  prairie  dogs, 
mice,  lizards,  and  even  snakes.  Once  in  a  great  while 
they  got  a  deer  or  an  antelope.  The  poor  savages  had  a 
cold  and  hungry  time  of  it ;  we  could  hardly  blame  them 
for  stealing  our  cattle  and  horses  to  eat. 

Yes,  they  ate  horses,  too.  That  was  the  reason  they 
had  no  ponies,  as  did  the  Bannocks  and  Shoshones  and 
other  tribes.  The  Gosiutes  wandered  afoot  over  the 
deserts,  but  this  made  them  great  runners.  It  is  said 
that  Yarabe,  one  of  these  Indians,  once  won  a  wager  by 
beating  the  Overland  Stage  in  a  race  of  twenty-five  miles 


Bur.  Am.  Ethnology,  Smithsonian  Institution 
Gosiute  wickiups  in  the  desert. 


4  The  White  Indian  Boy 

over  the  desert.  Swift  runners  like  this  would  slip  in  and 
chase  away  our  animals,  driving  them  off  and  killing 
them.  Our  men  finally  captured  old  Umbaginny  and 
some  other  bad  Indians  that  were  making  the  mischief, 
and  made  an  example  of  them. 

After  this  they  did  not  trouble  us  so  much,  but  the 
settlements  were  in  constant  fear  and  excitement.  One 
incident  connected  with  my  father  shows  this.  Our  herd 
boys  were  returning  from  Stansbury  Island,  in  the  Great 
Salt  Lake,  where  many  cattle  were  kept.  On  their  way 
home  they  met  a  band  of  friendly  Indians.  The  boys,  in 
fun,  proposed  that  the  Indians  chase  them  into  town,  fir 
ing  a  few  shots  to  make  it  seem  like  a  real  attack.  The 
Indians  agreed,  and  the  chase  began.  My  father  saw 
them  coming  and  grabbed  his  gun.  Before  the  white 
jokers  could  stop  him  and  explain,  he  had  shot  down  the 
head  Indian's  horse.  It  took  fifty  sacks  of  flour  to  pay 
for  their  fun.  The  Indians  demanded  a  hundred  sacks, 
but  they  finally  agreed  to  take  half  that  amount  and  call 
things  square. 

Some  of  the  Indians  grew  in  time  to  be  warm  friends 
with  us,  and  when  they  did  become  so,  they  would  help 
protect  us  from  the  wild  Indians.  At  one  time  Harrison 
Sevier,  a  pioneer  of  Grantsville,  was  out  in  the  canyon 
getting  wood.  "  Captain  Jack,"  a  chief  of  the  Gosiutes, 
was  with  him.  Some  wild  Indians  attacked  Sevier 
and  would  have  killed  him,  but  "  Captain  Jack  "  sprang 
to  his  defense  and  beat  back  the  murderous  Indians. 
The  chief  had  most  of  his  clothes  torn  off  and  was  badly 
bruised  in  the  fight,  but  he  saved  his  white  friend.  Not 
all  the  Gosiutes  were  savages.  Old  Tabby,  another  of 
this  tribe,  was  a  friend  of  my  father.  How  he  proved 
his  friendship  for  us  I  shall  tell  later. 

A  rather  amusing  thing  happened  one  day  to  Tabby. 


Pioneer  Days  5 

He  had  just  got  a  horse  through  some  kind  of  trade. 
Like  the  other  Gosiutes,  he  was  not  a  very  skillful  rider. 
But  he  would  ride  his  pony.  One  day  this  big  Indian 
came  galloping  along  the  street  towards  the  blacksmith 
shop.  Riley  Judd,  the  blacksmith,  who  was  always  up 
to  pranks,  saw  Tabby  coming,  and  just  as  he  galloped 
up,  Riley  dropped  the  horse's  hoof  he  was  shoeing,  threw 
up  his  arms  and  said, 

"Why,  how  dye  do,  Tabby !" 

Tabby's  pony  jumped  sidewise,  arid  his  rider  tumbled 
off.  He  picked  himself  up  and  turned  to  the  laughing 
men,  saying  — 

" Ka  wino  (no  good),  Riley  Judd,  too  much  how  dye  do." 

Besides  our  troubles  with  the  Indians,  we  had  to  fight 
the  crickets  and  the  grasshoppers.  These  insects  swarmed 
down  from  the  mountains  and  devoured  every  green  thing 
they  could  find.  We  had  hard  work  to  save  our  crop.  It 
looked  as  if  starvation  was  coming.  The  men  got  great 
log  rollers  and  rolled  back  and  forth.  Herds  of  cattle 
were  also  driven  over  the  marching  crickets  to  crush 
them ;  rushes  were  piled  in  their  path,  and  when  they 
crawled  into  this  at  night,  it  would  be  set  on  fire.  But 
all  seemed  in  vain.  Nothing  we  could  do  stopped  the 
scourge. 

Then  the  gulls  came  by  the  thousands  out  of  the  Great 
Salt  Lake.  They  dropped  among  the  crickets  and  gorged 
and  regorged  themselves  until  the  foe  was  checked.  No 
man  could  pay  me  money  enough  to  kill  one  of  these  birds. 

After  the  cricket  war  the  grasshoppers  came  to  plague 
us.  Great  clouds  of  them  would  settle  down  on  our 
fields.  Father  saved  five  acres  of  his  grain  by  giving  up 
the  rest  to  them.  We  kept  the  hoppers  from  settling  on 
this  patch  by  running  over  and  over  the  field  with  ropes. 
We  used  our  bed  cords  to  make  a  rope  long  enough. 


6 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


Pioneer  Days  7 

But  it  was  a  starving  winter  anyway,  in  spite  of  all  we 
could  do.  We  were  a  thousand  miles  from  civilization, 
surrounded  by  hostile  Indians.  We  had  very  little  to 
eat  and  next  to  nothing  to  wear.  It  was  a  time  of  hunger 
and  hardships ;  but  most  of  the  people  managed  to  live 
through  it,  and  things  grew  brighter  with  the  spring. 


"  He  went  bucking  through  the  sagebrush." 

CHAPTER  TWO 

MY   LITTLE    INDIAN   BROTHER 

A  FEW  tame  Indians  hung  around  the  settlements  begging 
their  living.  The  people  had  a  saying,  "It  is  cheaper  to 
feed  them  than  to  fight  them,"  so  they  gave  them  what 
they  could;  but  the  leaders  thought  it  would  be  better 
to  put  them  to  work  to  earn  their  living ;  so  some  of  the 
whites  hired  the  Indians.  My  father  made  a  bargain 
with  old  Tosenamp  (White-foot)  to  help  him.  The 
Indian  had  a  squaw  and  one  papoose,  a  boy  about  my 
age.  They  called  him  Pantsuk. 

At  that  time  my  father  owned  a  small  herd  of  sheep, 
and  he  wanted  to  move  out  on  his  farm,  two  miles  from 
the  settlement,  so  he  could  take  better  care  of  them. 
Old  Tosenamp  thought  it  would  be  safe  to  do  so,  as  most 
of  the  Indians  there  were  becoming  friendly,  and  the 
wild  Indians  were  so  far  away  that  it  was  thought  they 
would  not  bother  us ;  so  we  moved  out  on  the  farm. 

Father  put  the  Indian  boy  and  me  to  herding  the  sheep. 
I  had  no  other  boy  to  play  with.  Pantsuk  and  I  became 
greatly  attached  to  each  other.  I  soon  learned  to  talk 

8 


My  Little  Indian  Brother  9 

his  language,  and  Pantsuk  and  I  had  great  times  together 
for  about  two  years.  We  trapped  chipmunks  and  birds, 
shot  rabbits  with  our  bows  and  arrows,  and  had  other 
kinds  of  papoose  sport. 

Once  we  thought  we  would  have  some  fun  riding  the 
sheep.  I  caught  "Old  Carney,"  our  big  ram,  and  Pantsuk 
got  on  him;  but  as  his  chubby  legs  were  hardly  long 
enough  to  hold  him  on  the  big  woolly  back,  I  tied  his  feet 
together  with  a  rope  under  the  ram.  Old  Carney  didn't 
like  this.  He  broke  away  and  went  bucking  through 
the  sagebrush.  Pantsuk  tumbled  off  under  him,  and  the 
old  sheep  dragged  him  for  several  rods  before  he  got  free. 
Pantsuk  was  a  white  papoose  for  sure,  when  he  scrambled 
to  his  feet ;  but  I  guess  I  was  more  scared  than  he  was. 
We  didn't  want  any  more  sheep-back  rides. 

Some  months  after  this  the  poor  little  fellow  took  sick. 
We  did  all  we  could  for  him,  but  he  kept  getting  worse 
until  he  died.  It  was  hard  for  me  to  part  with  my  dear 
little  Indian  friend.  I  loved  him  as  much  as  if  he  had 
been  my  own  brother. 

After  Pantsuk  died,  I  had  to  herd  the  sheep  by  myself. 
The  summer  wore  along  very  lonely  for  me,  until  about 
the  first  of  August,  when  a  band  of  Shoshone  Indians 
came  and  camped  near  where  I  was  watching  my  sheep. 
Some  of  them  could  talk  the  Gosiute  language,  which  I 
had  learned  from  my  little  Indian  brother.  The  Indians 
seemed  to  take  quite  a  fancy  to  me,  and  they  would  be  with 
me  every  chance  they  could  get.  They  said  they  liked  to 
hear  me  talk  their  language,  for  they  had  never  heard  a 
white  boy  talk  it  as  well  as  I  could. 

One  day  an  Indian  rode  up  to  the  place  where  I  was 
herding.  He  had  with  him  a  little  pinto  pony.  I  thought 
it  was  the  prettiest  animal  I  ever  saw.  The  Indian  could 
talk  Gosiute  very  well.  He  asked  me  if  I  did  not  want 


10  The  White  Indian  Boy 

to  ride  the  pony.  I  told  him  that  I  had  never  ridden  a 
horse.  He  said  that  the  pony  was  very  gentle,  and  helped 
me  to  mount  it.  Then  he  led  it  around  for  a  while.  The 
next  day  he  came  again  with  the  pony  and  let  me  ride  it. 
Several  other  Indians  were  with  him  this  time.  They 
took  turns  leading  the  pony  about  while  I  rode  it.  It  was 
great  sport  for  me.  I  soon  got  so  I  could  ride  it  without 
their  leading  it.  They  kept  coming  and  giving  me  this 
fun  for  several  days. 

One  day,  after  I  had  ridden  till  I  was  tired,  I  brought 
the  pony  back  to  the  Indian  who  had  first  come,  and  he 
asked  me  if  I  did  not  want  to  keep  it. 

"I  would  rather  have  that  pony,"  I  replied,  "than 
anything  else  I  ever  saw." 

"You  may  have  it,"  he  said,  "if  you  will  go  away  with 
us." 

I  told  him  I  was  afraid  to  go.  He  said  he  would  take 
good  care  of  me  and  would  give  me  bows  and  arrows  and 
all  the  buckskin  clothes  I  needed.  I  asked  him  what 
they  had  to  eat.  He  said  they  had  all  kinds  of  meat, 
and  berries,  and  fish,  sage  chickens,  ducks,  geese,  and 
rabbits.  This  sounded  good  to  me.  It  surely  beat  living 
on  "lumpy  dick"  1  and  greens,  our  usual  pioneer  fare. 

"Our  papooses  do  not  have  to  work,"  he  went  on, 
"they  have  heap  fun  all  the  time,  catching  fish  and  hunt 
ing  and  riding  ponies." 

That  looked  better  to  me  than  herding  a  bunch  of  sheep 
alone  in  the  sagebrush.  I  told  him  I  would  think  it  over. 
That  night  I  talked  with  old  Tosenamp.  The  Indians 
had  tried  to  get  him  to  help  them  induce  me  to  go  with 
them.  He  refused;  but  he  did  tell  me  that  they  would 
not  hurt  me  and  would  treat  me  all  right.  The  next 
day  I  told  them  I  would  go. 

1Made  by  cooking  moistened  flour  in  milk. 


My  Little  Indian  Brother 


11 


My  parents  knew  nothing  about  it.  They  would  never 
have  consented  to  my  going.  And  it  did  look  like  a 
foolish,  risky  thing  to  do ;  but  I  was  lonely  and  tired  and 
hungry  for  excitement,  and  I  yielded  to  the  temptation. 
In  five  days  the  Indians  were  to  start  north  to  join  the 
rest  of  their  tribe.  This  Indian  was  to  hide  for  two  days 
after  the  rest  had  gone  and  then  meet  me  at  a  bunch  of 
willows  about  a  mile  above  my  father's  house  after  dark 
with  the  little  pinto  pony.  The  plan  was  carried  out,  as 
you  will  see.  I  went  with  them,  and  for  two  years  I  did 
not  see  a  white  man.  This  was  in  August,  1854.  I  was 
just  about  twelve  years  old  at  the  time. 


Shoshone  squaws  on  "  pinto  "  and  "  buckskin  "  ponies. 


"  I  jumped  on  my  horse  and  away  we  went." 

CHAPTER  THREE 

OFF   WITH   THE   INDIANS 

THE  night  came  at  last  when  we  were  to  leave.  Just 
after  dark  I  slipped  away  from  the  house  and  started 
for  the  bunch  of  willows  where  I  was  to  meet  the  Indian. 
When  I  got  there,  I  found  two  Indians  waiting  for  me 
instead  of  one.  The  sight  of  two  of  them  almost  made 
me  weaken  and  turn  back ;  but  I  saw  with  them  my 
little  pinto  pony  and  it  gave  me  new  courage.  They  had 
an  old  Indian  saddle  on  the  pony  with  very  rough  rawhide 
thongs  for  stirrup  straps.  At  a  signal  from  them,  I  jumped 
on  my  horse  and  away  we  went.  Our  trail  led  towards 
the  north  along  the  western  shore  of  the  Great  Salt  Lake. 
The  Indians  wanted  to  ride  fast.  It  was  all  right  at 
first ;  but  after  a  while  I  got  very  tired.  My  legs  began 
to  hurt  me,  and  I  wanted  to  stop,  but  they  urged  me  along 
till  the  peep  of  day,  when  we  stopped  by  some  very  salt 
springs.  I  was  so  stiff  and  sore  that  I  could  not  get  off 
my  horse,  so  one  of  them  lifted  me  off  and  stood  me  on 
the  ground,  but  I  could  hardly  stand  up.  The  rawhide 

12 


Off  with  the  Indians 


13 


117  115  113  111  109  107  105 


1 


Map  of  the  Western  country  which  was  the  scene  of  Uncle  Nick' 
adventures. 


14  The  White  Indian  Boy 

straps  had  rubbed  the  skin  off  my  legs  till  they  were  raw. 
The  Indians  told  me  that  if  I  would  take  off  my  trousers 
and  jump  into  the  salt  springs  it  would  make  my  legs 
better ;  but  I  found  that  I  could  not  get  them  off  alone ; 
they  were  stuck  to  my  legs.  The  Indians  helped  me, 
and  after  some  very  severe  pain  we  succeeded  in  getting 
them  off.  A  good  deal  of  skin  came  with  them. 

"Come  now,"  they  urged  me,  "jump  into  this  water 
and  you  will  be  well  in  a  little  while." 

Well,  I  jumped  into  the  spring  up  to  my  waist.  Oh 
blazes !  I  jumped  out  again.  Oh,  my !  how  it  did  sting 
and  smart !  I  jumped  and  kicked.  I  was  so  wild  with 
pain  that  I  lay  on  the  ground  and  rolled  round  and  round 
on  the  grass.  After  half  an  hour  of  this,  I  wore  myself 
out,  and  oh,  how  I  cried !  The  Indians  put  down  a  buffalo 
robe,  and  rolled  me  on  to  it  and  spread  a  blanket  over  me. 
I  lay  there  and  cried  myself  to  sleep. 

When  I  awoke,  they  were  sitting  by  a  small  fire.    They 
had  killed  a  duck  and  were  broiling  it  for  breakfast. 
"Come,"  they  said,  "and  eat  some  duck." 
I  started  to  get  up,  but  oh !  how  sore  I  was !    I  began 
to  cry  again.    They  kept  coaxing  me  to  come  and  have 
something  to  eat  until  finally  I  got  up  and  went  to  them, 
but  I  had  to  walk  on  a  wide  track.     I  ate  some  duck  and 
dried  meat  and  felt  better.    While  I  was  eating  they  got 
the  horses  ready. 

"Come,"  they  said,  "get  on  your  pony." 
"No,"  I  objected,  "I  can't  ride;  I'd  rather  walk." 
They  said  that  they  were  going  a  long  way,  and  that 
I  could  not  walk  so  far.     Then  they  arranged  the  saddle 
so  it  would  not  hurt  me  so  much,  by  putting  a  buffalo 
robe  over  it.     They  lifted  me  into  it.     It  was  not  so  bad 
as  I  thought  it  would  be.     The  soft  hair  of  the  robe 
made  the  saddle  more  comfortable.    One  of  them  tied 


Off  with  the  Indians  15 

my  trousers  to  my  saddle.  That  day  I  lost  them  and  for 
more  than  two  years  I  did  not  have  another  pair.  During 
that  time  I  wore  Indian  leggings  and  a  blanket. 

We  traveled  all  day  over  a  country  that  was  more  like 
the  bottom  of  an  old  lake  than  anything  else.  We  camped 
that  night  by  another  spring.  The  Indians  lifted  me 
from  my  horse,  put  me  down  on  a  robe  and  started  a  fire. 
Then  they  caught  some  fish  and  broiled  them  again  on 
the  coals.  It  was  a  fine  supper  we  had  that  night. 

The  next  morning  I  felt  pretty  well  used  up ;  but  when 
I  had  eaten  some  fish  and  a  big  piece  of  dried  elk  meat 
for  breakfast,  I  felt  more  like  traveling.  Then  we  started 
again. 

Near  mid-afternoon,  we  saw,  about  six  miles  ahead  of 
us,  the  Indians  we  had  been  trying  to  overtake.  They 
had  joined  with  another  large  band,  so  there  were  a  great 
many  in  the  camp.  By  the  time  we  caught  up  with  them, 
they  had  stopped  and  were  unpacking,  and  some  of  them 
had  their  wigwams  set  up.  We  rode  through  the  camp 
until  we  came  to  a  big  tepee  where  a  large,  good-looking 
Indian  was  standing.  This  man,  they  said,  was  Washakie, 
their  chief;  I  was  to  live  with  him,  and  he  would  be  my 
brother. 

An  old  squaw  came  up  to  my  horse  and  stood  look 
ing  at  me.  The  Indians  said  that  she  was  the  chiefs 
mother  and  that  she  would  be  my  mother,  too.  They 
told  her  that  my  legs  were  badly  skinned  and  were  very 
sore.  Then  Washakie  helped  me  off  my  horse. 

The  old  squaw  put  her  hand  on  my  head  and  began 
to  say  something  pitiful  to  me,  and  I  began  to  cry.  She 
cried,  too,  and  taking  me  by  the  arm,  led  me  into  the 
tepee,  and  pointed  to  a  nice  bed  the  chief's  wife  had 
made  for  me.  I  lay  down  on  the  bed  and  sobbed  myself 
to  sleep.  When  I  awoke,  this  new  mother  of  mine  brought 


16 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


Off  with  the  Indians  17 

me  some  soup  and  some  fresh  deer  meat  to  eat.  I  tell 
you  it  tasted  good. 

The  next  morning  my  new  mother  thought  she  would 
give  me  a  good  breakfast.  They  had  brought  some  flour 
from  the  settlements,  and  she  tried  to  make  me  some 
bread,  such  as  I  had  at  home.  They  had  no  soda,  nothing 
but  flour  and  water,  so  the  bread  turned  out  to  be  pretty 
soggy.  I  think  she  didn't  like  it  very  well  when  she 
found  I  didn't  eat  it,  but  I  simply  couldn't  choke  it  down. 
I  did  make  a  good  meal,  however,  of  the  fried  sage  chicken 
and  the  fresh  service  berries  that  she  brought  with  the 
bread. 

That  day  my  mother  and  Hanabi,  the  chief's  wife, 
started  to  make  me  something. to  wear;  for  after  I  lost 
my  trousers,  I  had  nothing  but  an  old  thin  shirt,  out  at 
the  elbows,  and  a  straw  hat  that  had  lost  part  of  its  brim. 
The  two  women  worked  for  several  hours  and  finally  got 
the  thing  finished  and  gave  it  to  me  to  put  on.  I  do  not 
know  what  to  call  it,  for  I  had  never  seen  anything  like 
it  before,  but  it  may  have  been  what  the  girls  now  call  a 
"mother-hubbard."  It  was  all  right  anyhow,  when  I 
got  it  on  and  my  belt  around  to  keep  the  thing  close  to 
me ;  but  I  had  to  pull  the  back  up  a  little  to  keep  it  from 
choking  me  to  death  when  I  stooped  over. 

We  stayed  at  this  camp  for  five  days  to  give  me  time 
to  get  well.  My  good  old  mother  rubbed  my  legs  with 
skunk  oil  and  they  healed  rapidly.  It  had  got  noised 
around  that  my  legs  were  very  bad,  and  one  day  when 
I  was  out  in  front  of  the  tepee,  a  lot  of  papooses  wanted 
to  see  them.  One  stooped  to  raise  my  mother-hubbard 
to  take  a  look,  and  the  rest  began  to  laugh,  but  they 
didn't  laugh  long,  for  I  gave  him  a  kick  that  sent  him 
keeling.  Then  his  mother  came  out  after  me,  and  I 
thought  she  was  going  to  eat  me  up.  She  scolded  and 


18  The  White  Indian  Boy 

jawed,  but  I  couldn't  tell  what  she  was  saying,  so  it  did 
not  make  much  difference  to  me.  My  old  mother,  hear 
ing  the  noise,  came  up  and  led  me  into  the  tepee  and 
gave  me  some  dried  service  berries.  I  thought  that  if 
that  was  the  way  they  were  going  to  treat  me,  I  would 
kick  another  one  the  first  chance  I  got. 

It  was  not  long  before  I  got  the  chance,  for  the  next 
day  a  papoose  about  my  size  tried  the  same  trick  and -I 
fetched  him  a  kick  that  made  him  let  out  a  yell  that 
could  have  been  heard  a  mile.  It  brought  about  half 
the  tribe  out  to  see  how  many  I  had  killed.  That  papoose's 
mother  turned  loose  on  me,  too,  with  her  tongue  and 
everlastingly  berated  me.  The  chief  happened  to  see 
the  trouble,  and  I  think  that  is  what  saved  me  from  being 
cremated.  Anyhow,  the  papooses  left  my  mother- 
hubbard  alone  after  that. 

My  mother  began  then  to  teach  me  the  Shoshone 
language.  My  knowing  how  to  talk  the  Gosiute  tongue 
made  it  easier  for  me,  for  these  two  Indian  dialects  are 
very  much  alike. 

One  night  the  hunters  came  in  loaded  with  game,  and 
the  next  day  we  began  to  move.  The  horses  were  brought 
in,  and  among  them  was  my  pinto  pony.  When  I  saw 
him,  it  seemed  like  meeting  some  one  from  home.  I  ran 
up  and  hugged  him.  My  good  old  mother  had  fixed  up  a 
pretty  good  saddle,  all  cushioned  in  fine  style  to  keep  it 
from  hurting  me. 

We  traveled  about  fifteen  miles  that  day  and  camped 
on  a  small  stream  they  called  Koheets  (Curlew) .  Mother 
told  me  to  wade  out  into  the  water  and  bathe  my  legs. 

"Not  much,"  I  said,  "I  have  had  all  the  baths  I  want," 

She  said  that  the  water  would  make  my  legs  tough, 
and  when  she  saw  I  wouldn't  go  into  the  stream  she 
brought  some  cold  water  and  told  me  to  wash  them.  I, 


Off  with  the  Indians 


19 


wanted  to  know  whether  it  was  salt  water.  She  said  it 
wasn't,  so  I  bathed  my  legs,  and  when  I  found  that  the 
water  did  not  hurt  them  I  waded  into  the  creek.  Washakie 
said  it  was  "tibi  tsi  djant"  —  heap  good. 


Shoshone  wickiup. 


Dr.  T.  M.  Bridges 

Lodges  of  this  kind  were  used  in  the  summer  season. 


"  I  begged  him  to  let  me  go." 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

THE    GREAT   ENCAMPMENT 

IT  was  the  custom  of  the  Shoshone  chieftains  in  those 
early  days  to  gather  all  of  their  tribe  every  three  years. 
As  this  was  the  year  for  the  great  tribal  meeting,  we 
started  for  the  big  camp  ground.  After  traveling  for  three 
days,  we  reached  a  large  river,  which  the  Indians  called 
Piupa  (Snake  River) .  Here  we  were  joined  by  another 
large  band  of  the  same  tribe. 

In  order  to  cross  the  river,  the  squaws  built  boats  of 
bulrushes  tied  in  bundles;  these  bundles  were  lashed 
together  until  they  made  a  boat  big  enough  to  hold  up 
from  six  to  eight  hundred  pounds.  The  Indians  made 
the  horses  swim  over,  and  some  of  the  papoose  boys  rode 
their  ponies  across.  I  wanted  to  swim  my  horse,  but  my 
mother  would  not  let  me.  It  took  about  a  week  to  get 
across  the  river ;  but  during  that  time  I  had  some  of  the 
best  fun  of  my  life. 

My  mother  gave  me  a  fishhook  and  a  line  made  out  of 
hair  from  a  horse's  tail.  With  this  tackle  I  caught  my 

20 


The  Great  Encampment 


first  fish,  and  some  of  them  were  very  large  ones,  too. 
The  other  boys  became  more  friendly,  and  we  had  jolly 
times  together;  but  mother  kept  pretty  close  watch 
over  me,  for  fear  I  would  kick  them,  and  get  into  more 
trouble.  After  I  began  to  play  with  the  papooses,  I 
picked  up  the  Shoshone  language  much  faster. 

Nothing  else  of  importance  happened  until  we  reached 
Big  Hole  Basin.  There  I  saw  the  first  buffalo  I  had  seen 
since  crossing  the  plains.  Seven  head  of  them  appeared 
one  morning  on  a  hill  about  a  mile  away.  Ten  Indians 
started  after  them.  One,  having  a  wide,  blade-like  spear 
head  attached  to  a  long  shaft,  would  ride  up  to  a  buffalo 
and  cut  the  hamstrings  of  both  legs,  then  the  others 
would  rush  up  and  kill  the  wounded  animal. 

About  fifteen  squaws  followed  the  hunters  to  skin  the 
buffaloes  and  get  the  meat.  Mother  and  I  went  with 
them.  The  squaws 
would  rip  the  animals 
down  the  back  from 
head  to  tail,  then  rip 
them  down  the  belly 
and  take  off  the  top 
half  of  the  hide  and  cut 
away  all  the  meat  on 
that  side  from  the  bones. 
They  would  tie  ropes  to 
the  feet  of  the  carcass 
and  turn  it  over  with 
their  ponies,  to  strip  off 
the  skin  and  flesh  from 
the  other  side  in  the 
same  way. 

The  meat  was   then 
carried  to  camp  to  be 


Meat  drying  before  the  tepee  of  a  Crow 
Indian. 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


The  Great  Encampment  23 

sliced  in  thin  strips  and  hung  up  to  dry.  When  it  was 
about  half  dry,  the  squaws  would  take  a  piece  at  a  time 
and  pound  it  between  two  stones  till  it  was  very  tender. 
It  was  then  hung  up  again  to  dry  thoroughly.  The  dried 
meat  was  put  into  a  sack  and  kept  for  use  in  the  winter 
and  during  the  general  gatherings  of  the  tribe.  The  older 
it  got  the  better  it  was.  This  is  the  way  the  Indians  cured 
all  of  their  buffalo  meat.  Washakie  had  about  five  hundred 
pounds  of  such  meat  for  his  own  family  when  we  reached 
Deer  Lodge  Valley,  now  in  Montana,  the  place  of  our 
great  encampment. 

It  was  about  the  last  of  August  before  all  of  the  tribe 
had  assembled.  What  a  sight  it  was  to  see  so  many 
Indians  together!  The  tepees  were  strung  up  and 
down  the  stream  as  far  as  I  could  see,  and  the  whole 
country  round  about  was  covered  with  horses  and  dogs. 
As  nearly  as  I  could  find  out,  about  six  thousand  Indians 
had  gathered.  When  I  asked  the  chief  how  many  there 
were,  he  said  that  he  could  not  count  them.  And  to 
think  that  I  was  the  only  white  person  within  hundreds 
of  miles,  perhaps !  It  gave  me  rather  a  queer  feeling. 

Mother  kept  very  close  watch  over  me  for  fear  that  I 
should  get  hurt  or  lost  among  so  many  Indians.  When 
ever  I  went  around  to  see  what  was  going  on,  she  was 
nearly  always  by  my  side.  She  warned  me  especially 
against  Pocatello's  Indians,  telling  me  that  they  were 
very  bad,  that  they  would  steal  me  and  take  me  away 
off  and  sell  me  to  Indians  that  would  eat  me  up.  She 
scared  me  so  badly  that  I  stuck  pretty  close  to  her  most 
of  the  time. 

The  Indians  spent  much  of  their  time  horse-racing 
and  gambling.  They  would  bet  very  heavily;  I  saw 
an  Indian  win  fifty  head  of  ponies  on  one  race.  Two 
Indians  were  killed  while  racing  their  horses,  and  a  squaw 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


The  Great  Encampment  %5 

and  her  papoose  were  run  over;  the  papoose  was  also 
killed. 

Some  of  Pocatello's  Indians  had  several  scalps  they 
had  taken  from  some  poor  emigrants  they  had  killed. 
I  saw  six  of  these  scalps.  One  was  of  a  woman  with  red 
hair,  one  a  girl's  scalp  with  dark  hair,  and  four  were  men's 
scalps,  one  with  gray  hair,  the  rest  with  dark  hair.  I 
cannot  describe  the  feelings  I  had  when  I  saw  the  red 
devils  dancing  around  those  scalps.  It  made  me  wish 
that  I  were  home  again  herding  sheep  and  living  on 
"lumpy  dick"  and  greens. 

Washakie's  Indians  had  a  few  Crow  scalps,  for  at  this 
time  the  Shoshones  and  Crows  were  at  war  with  each 
other.  I  am  pretty  sure  that  they  had  no  white  scalps ; 
or  if  they  had,  they  did  not  let  me  see  them. 

The  Indians  had  great  times  dancing  around  the  scalps. 
They  would  stick  a  small  pole  in  the  ground  and  string 
scalps  on  it.  Then  they  would  dance  around  it,  singing 
and  yelling  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  making  the  most 
horrible  noises  I  ever  heard.  The  leaders  of  the  different 
bands  would  take  the  inside,  the  warriors  would  circle 
about  them  and  the  squaws  and  papooses  would  dance 
around  the  outside.  The  noise  they  made  would  shame  a 
band  of  coyotes.  As  many  as  five  hundred  Indians  would 
be  dancing  in  this  way  at  one  time,  and  they  would  keep 
at  it  for  hours.  I  got  sick  and  tired  of  their  hideous 
noises ;  but  they  thought  they  were  having  a  high  time. 
This  singing  and  dancing  was  kept  going  at  intervals  for  a 
week  or  more. 

The  time  was  drawing  near  when  we  were  to  separate, 
and  I  was  glad  of  it.  Some  of  Pocatello's  Indians  left  a 
few  days  ahead  of  the  rest  of  his  band.  A  day  or  two 
before  our  band  was  to  start  my  pinto  pony  ran  off  with 
some  other  horses.  I  slipped  away  from  my  mother  and 


26  The  White  Indian  Boy 

went  after  him.  Before  I  had  gone  far  I  met  some 
Indians  hunting  horses,  but  they  said  they  had  not  seen 
mine.  I  kept  on  going  until  another  Indian  came  up 
to  me.  He  said  he  had  seen  some  horses  go  over  a  ridge 
about  a  mile  away. 

"If  you  will  get  on  my  horse  behind  me,"  he  said,  "I 
will  take  you  over  and  see  if  your  horse  is  there."  Think 
ing  no  harm,  I  got  on  his  horse  and  off  we  started ;  but 
when  .we  got  to  the  top  of  the  hill  no  horses  were  to  be 
seen.  After  we  got  over  the  hill  he  began  to  ride  fast. 
I  got  scared,  for  I  thought  of  the  man-eating  savages  my 
mother  had  told  me  about.  I  asked  him  to  stop  and  let 
me  get  off,  but  he  only  whipped  his  horse  harder  and  went 
faster. 

Watching  my  chance,  I  jumped  off  and  almost  broke 
my  neck;  but  I  got  up  and  put  back  towards  camp  as 
hard  as  I  could  run.  The  Indian  turned,  dashed  up, 
and  threw  his  lasso  over  me.  After  dragging  me  several 
rods  he  stopped,  and  hit  me  with  his  quirt,  telling  me  to 
get  back  on  his  horse  or  he  would  put  an  arrow  through 
me.  I  cried  and  begged  him  to  let  me  go ;  but  he  made 
me  get  on  again,  and  then  he  struck  off  as  fast  as  he  could 
go.  I  noticed,  however,  that  he  kept  looking  back  every 
little  while. 

Pretty  soon  he  stopped  and  told  me  to  get  off.  As  I 
jumped  he  gave  me  a  lick  over  the  head  with  his  quirt 
that  made  me  see  stars  for  a  few  minutes.  Then  he 
started  off  on  the  run  again ;  but  after  going  about  fifty 
yards  he  stopped,  pulled  his  bow  and  arrow  out  of  his 
quiver  and  started  towards  me  as  if  he  intended  to  put 
an  arrow  through  me.  He  came  but  a  few  steps,  then 
suddenly  whirled  his  horse  and  off  he  went  over  the 
prairie. 

I  soon  saw  what  caused  his  hurry.     A  short  distance 


The  Great  Encampment  27 

away  were  some  Indians  coming  towards  me  as  fast  as 
they  could  travel.  When  they  reached  me,  they  stopped, 
and  one  of  them  told  me  to  get  on  behind  him  and  he 
would  take  me  to  my  mother.  I  climbed  up  double 
quick.  Before  we  got  to  the  tepees  I  met  mother 
coming  out  to  find  me.  She  was  crying.  She  took  me 
off  the  horse  and  threw  her  arms  around  me.  One  of 
Pocatello's  Indians,  she  said,  was  trying  to  steal  me  and 
she  never  expected  to  find  her  white  papoose  again. 

Some  Indians  happened  to  see  me  get  on  my  horse 
behind  the  Indian  and  told  my  mother,  and  Washakie 
had  sent  those  Indians  after  me,  before  we  got  very  far 
away.  Mother  stayed  close  to  me  after  that;  but  I 
had  had  such  a  scare  that  I  didn't  go  very  far  from  the 
tepee  without  her.  The  chief  told  me  never  to  go  alone 
after  my  horse  if  he  got  away  again,  but  to  let  him  know 
and  he  would  have  the  pony  brought  back.  "If  Poca 
tello's  Indians,"  he  said,  "could  get  you,  they  would 
swap  you  for  a  whole  herd  of  ponies,  and  then  it  would 
be  'good-by  Yagaiki. ' '  "  Yagaiki,"  by  the  way,  was  my 
Indian  name.  It  meant  "the  crier."  They  gave  it  to 
me  because  I  mimicked  the  squaws  and  papooses  one 
day  when  they  were  bawling  about  something. 


"  I  jumped  from  my  horse  and  raised  her  up.'' 

CHAPTER  FIVE 

BREAKING   CAMP 

THE  camp  finally  began  to  break  up  in  earnest.  Small 
bands  went  off  in  different  directions  to  their  various  hunt 
ing  grounds  that  had  been  decided  on  by  the  council. 
We  were  among  the  last  to  leave.  There  were  about  sixty 
tepees  and  two  hundred  and  fifty  Indians  in  our  band. 
We  had  about  four  hundred  horses,  and  more  than  five 
hundred  dogs,  it  seemed  to  me. 

Chief  Washakie  at  that  time  was  about  twenty-seven 
years  old.  He  was  a  very  large  Indian  and  good  looking. 
His  wife,  Hanabi,  did  not  appear  to  be  more  than  twenty 
years  old.  She  had  only  one  child,  a  little  boy  papoose 
about  six  months  old. 

Pocatello  was  not  so  large  as  Washakie.  He  was  a 
Shoshone,  but  his  wife  was  a  Bannock.  She  had  three 
papooses  when  I  first  saw  her.  Pocatello  was  a  wicked 
looking  Indian.  His  tribe  did  more  damage  to  the  emi 
grants  than  any  other  tribe  in  the  West.  He  wanted  to 
be  the  big  chief  of  the  Shoshones ;  he  thought  he  ought 
to  be  the  leader  because  he  was  older  than  Washakie, 

28 


Breaking  Camp  29 

but  the  tribe  would  not  have  it  that  way.  He  did  draw 
away  about  five  hundred  of  the  tribe,  however,  and  tried 
to  change  the  tribe  name  to  "Osasibi" ;  but  Washakie's 
Indians  called  them  "Saididig,"  which  means  dog- 
stealers. 

When  this  band  of  Indian  outlaws  joined  us  in  the  Big 
Hole  Basin,  they  had  new  quilts,  white  women's  clothes, 
new  guns,  watches,  saddles,  and  hats.  Mother  told  me 
that  they  had  just  attacked  a  large  train  of  emigrants, 
and  had  killed  the  people,  burned  their  wagons  and  robbed 
them  of  everything.  They  had  some  very  large  horses 
and  mules  with  them.  Mother  wanted  to  buy  a  saddle 
and  a  hat  for  me,  but  I  told  her  that  I  would  not  wear  a 
hat  whose  owner  had  been  killed  and  scalped  by  old 
Pocatello. 

Washakie  and  Pocatello  were  never  very  friendly. 
Pocatello  wanted  to  keep  up  a  constant  warfare  against 
the  whites ;  but  Washakie  knew  that  meant  only  trouble 
and  that  the  Indians  would  finally  get  the  worst  of  it; 
so  he  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  Pocatello' s  murderous 
business.  Because  Washakie  thought  it  would  be  much 
better  to  live  in  peace  with  the  whites,  Pocatello  called 
him  a  squaw  and  said  he  was  afraid  to  fight. 

I  was  very  glad  to  go ;  for  I  was  tired  of  being  stared 
at  by  so  many  Indians.  There  were  hundreds  of  young 
Indians  in  the  camp  and  many  old  ones,  too,  that  had 
never  seen  a  white  person  before.  They  would  gather 
around  me  as  if  I  were  some  wild  animal.  If  I  moved 
more  suddenly  towards  them,  they  would  jump  back  and 
scream  like  wildcats.  My  mother  told  them  that  I  would 
not  bite,  but  if  they  bothered  me  too  much  I  might  kick 
some  of  their  ribs  loose,  for  I  could  kick  worse  than  a  wild 
horse. 

Two  or  three  days  after  we  had  left  the  big  camp,  the 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


L.  A.  Huffman,  Miles  City.  Mont. 
Buffaloes  on  the  plains. 

pack  on  one  of  our  horses  turned  under  his  belly  and  he 
began  to  run  and  kick  like  mad.  This  started  the  rest  of 
the  pack  horses  and  they  came  running  past  us.  Mother 
tried  to  stop  them,  but  one  of  the  runaways  bumped  against 
her  horse  and  knocked  it  down.  It  rolled  over  with  her. 
I  thought  she  was  killed.  I  jumped  from  my  horse  and 
raised  her  up.  She  was  not  dead,  but  she  was  badly 
bruised  and  one  of  her  arms  was  broken.  I  think  I  never 
cried  harder  in  my  life  than  I  did  then,  for  I  thought  my 
poor  mother  was  going  to  die.  She  told  me  not  to  cry, 
that  she  would  be  all  right  soon. 

Washakie's  wife  was  there  and  she  told  me  to  dash 
ahead  and  tell  the  chief  to  hurry  back.  When  he  came, 
he  ordered  the  band  to  stop  and  pitch  camp.  We  had  to 
stay  there  a  week  to  let  mother  get  well  enough  to  travel 
again.  There  were  a  great  many  antelope  in  the  valley 
and  plenty  of  fish  in  the  stream  by  the  camp.  When 
mother  would  go  to  sleep,  I  would  go  fishing.  When  she 
awoke  Hanabi  would  call,  "Yagaiki  come,"  and  I  would 
get  back  in  double-quick  time. 

One  day  while  we  were  camped  here  waiting  for  mother 
to  get  better,  I  went  out  with  Washakie  and  the  other 
Indians  to  chase  antelope.  About  fifty  of  us  circled  around 


Breaking  Camp  31 

a  bunch  and  took  turns  chasing  them.  The  poor  little 
animals  were  gradually  worn  out  by  this  running  and 
finally  they  would  drop  down  one  after  another,  hiding 
their  heads  under  the  bushes,  while  the  Indians  shot 
them  to  death  with  their  bows  and  arrows.  I  killed  two 
myself.  When  I  got  home  and  told  mother  about  it,  she 
bragged  about  me  so  much  that  I  thought  I  was  a  "heap 
big  Injun." 

Mother's  arm  soon  got  well  enough  for  her  to  travel,  for 
the  medicine  man  had  fixed  it  up  very  well,  so  we  took 
up  our  journey  again.  There  were  a  great  many  buffaloes 
and  antelope  too,  where  we  next  pitched  camp.  We 
stayed  there  for  about  three  weeks.  During  the  times 
that  she  could  not  watch  me,  mother  had  Washakie  take 
me  out  on  his  hunting  trips.  That  just  suited  me.  It 
was  lots  of  fun  to  watch  the  Indian  with  the  big  spear  dash 
up  and  cut  the  hamstrings  of  the  great  animals.  When 
they  had  been  crippled  in  this  way,  we  would  rush  up  and 
shoot  arrows  into  their  necks  until  they  dropped  dead. 
The  first  day  we  killed  six,  two  large  bulls  and  four  cows. 


L.  A.  Huffman,  Miles  CUy,.MorU. 
Why  the  buffalo  disappeared ;  part  of  the  white  man's  trail. 


32  The  White  Indian  Boy 

I  told  Washakie  that  my  bow  was  too  small  to  kill 
buffaloes  with.  He  laughed  and  said  I  should  have  a 
bigger  one.  When  we  got  back  to  camp,  he  told  some 
Indians  what  I  had  said  and  one  very  old  Indian,  whose 
name  was  Morogonai,  gave  me  a  very  fine  bow  and 
another  Indian  gave  me  eight  good  arrows.  I  felt  very 
proud  then ;  I  told  mother  that  the  next  time  I  went  out 
I  would  kill  a  whole  herd  of  buffaloes.  She  said  she  knew 
I  would,  but  she  did  not  know  what  they  could  do  with  all 
the  meat. 

Washakie  said  that  I  was  just  like  the  rest  of  the  white 
men.  They  would  kill  buffaloes  as  long  as  there  were 
any  in  sight  and  leave  their  carcasses  over  the  prairies  for 
the  wolves.  He  said  that  was  not  the  way  of  the  Indians. 
They  killed  only  what  they  needed  and  saved  all  the 
meat  and  hides. 

"The  Great  Spirit,"  he  said,  "would  not  like  it  if  we 
slaughtered  the  game  as  the  whites  do.  It  would  bring 
bad  luck,  and  the  Indians  would  go  hungry  if  they  killed 
the  deer  and  buffaloes  when  they  were  not  needed  for 
food  and  clothing." 

Two  or  three  days  after  this  we  went  out  again  and 
killed  two  more  buffaloes.  When  we  got  back  mother 
asked  how  many  I  had  killed.  I  told  her  that  I  shot  twice 
at  them  and  I  believed  I  had  hit  one.  She  said  that  I 
would  be  the  best  hunter  in  the  tribe  afterwhile,  and  some 
day,  she  said,  I  would  be  a  big  chief. 


>'-^jj*,  - 

"  The  boy  papooses  made  fun  of  me." 

CHAPTER  SIX 

VILLAGE    LIFE 

COLD  weather  was  coming.  Some  snow  had  already  fallen 
in  the  mountains.  Hanabi  and  her  friends  went  to  work 
to  make  me  some  better  clothes.  Very  soon  they  had  a 
fine  suit  ready. 

The  trousers  part  was  made  somewhat  like  the  chaps 
worn  by  cowboys,  being  open  in  front,  with  no  seat ;  but 
on  the  sides  they  had  wedge-shaped  strips  that  ran  up  and 
fastened  to  the  belt.  These  leggings  fitted  pretty  tight,  but 
there  was  a  seam  about  as  wide  as  my  hand  that  could  be 
let  out  if  necessary.  They  gave  me  a  pair  of  new  mocca 
sins  that  came  up  to  my  knees.  They  also  made  me  an 
other  overshirt,  or  "  mother-hubbard, "  out  of  fine  smoked 
buckskin ;  it  fitted  me  better  than  did  my  first  one.  The 
sleeves  came  down  a  little  below  my  elbows  and  had  a 
long  fringe  from  the  shoulders  down ;  it  was  also  fringed 
around  the  neck  and  the  bottom ;  and  to  touch  it  up  more, 
they  had  stitched  beads  in  heart  and  diamond  shapes 
over  the  breast.  The  clothes  were  all  very  fine ;  but  when 
I  got  them  on,  I  looked  a  good  deal  like  a  squaw  papoose. 

33 


34 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


Village  Life  35 

I  didn't  care  much,  though,  for  the  clothes  fitted  me  pretty 
well  and  they  were  warm  and  comfortable.  Mother  also 
made  me  a  hat  out  of  muskrat  skin.  It  ran  to  a  peak  and 
had  two  rabbit  tails  sewed  to  the  top  for  tassels.  With 
my  new  clothes  on,  I  was  better  dressed  than  any  other 
kid  in  camp. 

We  now  started  for  the  elk  country.  When  we  got 
there,  the  Indians  killed  about  one  hundred  elk  and  a  few 
bear ;  but  by  that  time  it  was  getting  so  cold  that  we  set 
out  for  our  winter  quarters.  After  traveling  a  few  days 
we  reached  a  large  river,  called  by  the  Indians  Piatapa,  by 
the  whites  the  Jefferson  River;  it  is  now  in  Montana. 
Here  we  pitched  camp  to  stay  during  the  "snowy  moons." 

Most  of  the  buffaloes  by  this  time  had  left  for  their 
winter  range ;  but  once  in  a  while  we  saw  a  few  as  they 
passed  our  camp.  The  Indians  did  not  bother  them, 
however,  because  we  had  plenty  of  dried  meat,  and  for 
fresh  meat  there  were  many  white-tail  deer  that  we  could 
snare  by  hanging  loops  of  rawhide  over  their  trails  through 
the  willows.  There  were  also  a  great  many  grouse  and 
sage  hens  about  in  the  brush.  I  have  killed  as  many  as 
six  or  seven  of  these  a  day  with  my  bow  and  arrows. 

Winter  passed  away  very  slowly.  Nothing  exciting 
happened  until  along  towards  spring ;  then  one  day  we 
had  a  terrible  fracas.  Washakie  had  gone  up  the  river  a 
few  miles  to  visit  another  large  Indian  village  for  a  day  or 
two.  While  he  was  away,  pretty  nearly  all  the  camp  got 
into  a  fight. 

We  had  a  fishing  hole  close  to  camp  where  the  squaws 
and  papooses  would  fish.  Mother  and  I  had  been  down 
there  with  the  others  fishing  through  this  hole  in  the  ice, 
and  when  we  had  caught  a  good  string  of  fish  mother 
took  what  we  had  to  the  tepee.  She  told  me  not  to  stay 
long. 


36  The  White  Indian  Boy 

As  soon  as  she  had  gone,  a  girl,  a  little  larger  than  I, 
wanted  to  take  my  tackle  and  fish  in  my  hole.  I  let  her 
have  it,  and  she  caught  several  fish.  Then  I  heard  mother 
call  me  and  I  asked  the  girl  to  give  me  back  my  pole  so  I 
could  go  home,  but  she  would  not  do  it.  I  tried  to  take 
it  from  her,  but  she  jerked  it  away  and  hit  me  over  the 
head  with  it,  knocking  me  to  my  knees.  I  jumped  up  and 
gave  her  a  whack  that  knocked  her  down ;  when  she  got 
up  she  let  out  some  of  the  awfulest  yelps  I  ever  heard. 
Then  she  put  for  home  as  fast  as  she  could  go,  yelling  and 
screaming.  I  knew  something  else  would  happen  pretty 
quick;  so  I  gathered  up  what  fish  the  other  papooses 
hadn't  run  away  with  and  hiked  for  home  too.  Just  as  I 
got  inside  the  tepee,  the  girl's  mother  came  rushing 
up  with  a  big  knife  in  her  hand.  "Give  me  that  little 
white  devil!"  she  screamed.  "I'll  cut  his  heart  out!" 
She  started  for  me,  but  mother  stopped  her,  and  shoved 
her  back  out  of  the  tepae. 

They  made  such  a  racket  that  the  whole  camp  gathered 
around  to  see  the  fun.  The  squaw  hit  mother  over  the 
head  with  the  knife ;  and  when  I  saw  the  blood  fly,  I 
grabbed  a  stick  and  struck  the  squaw  over  the  head, 
knocking  her  down.  Another  squaw  grabbed  mother  and 
I  sent  her  spinning.  Then  others  mixed  in  and  took  sides 
and  soon  the  whole  bunch  was  yelling  and  fighting  fit  to 
kill.  One  boy  grabbed  my  stick,  but  I  gave  him  a  kick 
that  settled  him.  Then  Hanabi  took  the  stick  from  me : 
but  I  ran  into  the  tepee  and  grabbed  my  bow  and  ar 
rows.  I  was  so  mad  I  would  have  made  a  few  "good  squaws" 
in  quick  time ;  but  a  big  Indian  jerked  my  bow  from  me 
and  broke  the  string.  I  guess  it  was  best  that  he  did. 
More  Indians  rushed  up  and  stopped  the  fight ;  but  not 
before  a  lot  of  them  went  off  howling  with  sore  heads. 
That  night  Washakie  came  home  and  held  a  big  council. 


Village  Life 


37 


im.  Ethnology,  Smithsonian  Institution 


The  seed  gatherers  of  Western  desert 
.  tribes. 


I  don't  know  what  they 
said,  but  the  next  day 
two  or  three  families  left 
our  camp  and  went  to 
join  another  band. 

Everything  now  passed 
along  very  well  for  a  time. 
I  helped  mother  carry 
wood  and  water.  The 
boy  papooses  made  fun 
of  me,  calling  me  a  squaw 
for  doing  it,  because 
carrying  wood  and  water 
was  squaw's  work.  I 
told  mother  that  I  would 
break  some  of  their  necks 

if  they  didn't  stop  it.     "Oh,  let  them  alone,"  she  said, 
"they  are  bad  boys." 

But  one  day  we  were  getting  wood,  and  having  cut  more 
than  we  could  carry  in  one  trip,  I  went  back  for  it  when  a 
boy  ran  up  to  me  and  said,  "You're  a  squaw,"  and  spit 
at  me.  I  threw  down  my  wood  and  struck  out  after  him. 
•  He  ran  yelping  at  every  jump,  expecting  me,  I  guess,  to 
kick  his  head  off.  But  Washakie  happened  to  see  us  and 
called  to  me  to  stop.  It  was  lucky  for  that  papoose  that 
he  did.  I  went  back  and  got  my  wood  and  took  it  to 
the  tepee. 

Washakie  wanted  to  know  what  it  was  all  about.  I 
told  him  what  the  boy  had  done.  He  said  he  did  not 
want  to  start  another  camp  fight,  but  he  did  want  me  to 
take  my  own  part.  He  said  that  he  had  been  watching 
how  things  were  going,  and  he  was  glad  to  say  that,  so 
far  as  he  knew,  I  had  never  started  a  fuss.  He  did  not 
think  that  I  was  quarrelsome  if  I  was  let  alone.  He  was 


38  The  White  Indian  Boy 

glad,  he  said,  to  see  me  stand  up  for  myself ;  for  if  I  was 
cowardly  the  papooses  would  give  me  no  peace. 

One  day  I  heard  an  Indian  talking  to  Washakie  and 
telling  him  it  was  not  right  for  him  to  let  me  do  squaw's 
work;  it  would  set  a  bad  example  for  the  other  boys. 
Washakie  replied  that  he  thought  it  was  a  good  example, 
and  if  some  of  the  older  ones  would  take  it,  it  would  be 
better  for  their  squaws. 

"We  burden  our  women  to  death,"  he  said,  "with  hard 
labor.  I  did  not  think  so  much  about  it  until  Yagaki 
came.  I  see  now  how  much  he  helps  mother  and  how 
much  hard  work  she  has  to  do.  Yagaki  appears  to  be 
happier  helping  mother  than  he  is  when  playing  with  the 
other  boys.  I  believe  that  she  would  have  gone  crazy 
if  it  had  not  been  for  him,  her  troubles  over  the  loss  of 
father  and  my  brothers  were  so  great.  I  do  believe  that 
the  Great  Spirit  sent  the  little  white  boy  to  her." 

I  think  myself  that  if  anything  had  happened  to  me,  it 
would  have  killed  mother.  She  was  very  proud  to  have 
me  with  her.  She  would  say  to  Washakie,  "Yagaki  is  a 
smart  boy.  He  asks  me  questions  that  I  can  hardly 
answer.  One  day  he  asked  me  why  the  Indians  did  not 
haul  and  cut  the  wood  for  their  women.  His  father  does 
that  for  his  mother.  He  thinks  that  the  Indians  ought  to 
pack  the  meat,  too,  and  take  care  of  their  own  horses,  or 
send  the  boys  to  do  it.  If  the  women  tanned  the  hides 
and  made  the  moccasins  and  clothes  for  the  family  and 
did  the  cooking,  it  was  their  share  of  the  work." 

I  heard  all  this  talk  going  on  one  night  when  they 
thought  I  was  asleep.  Washakie  agreed  with  most  of 
what  his  mother  said,  but  of  course  they  couldn't  change 
the  Indians'  way  of  doing  things. 


"She  used  to  tell  me  her  troubles." 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

MY   INDIAN   MOTHER 

MY  Indian  mother  was  as  good  and  kind  to  me  as  any 
one  could  be,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  realize  that  there 
was  another  loving  mother  miles  and  miles  away  whose 
heart  was  sorrowing  because  of  my  absence.  To  her  mind 
must  have  come  many  times  these  words  of  the  old  song : 
"Oh,  where  is  my  wandering  boy  tonight?" 

My  Indian  mother  would  often  ask  me  a  good  many 
questions  about  my  white  mother.  She  asked  me  if  I 
did  not  want  to  go  home.  I  told  her  that  I  should  like  to 
see  my  folks  very  much,  but  if  I  went  home  they  would 
keep  me  there,  and  I  did  not  want  to  herd  sheep.  I  told 
her  that  I  would  rather  play  with  white  boys  than  with 
Indian  boys,  but  that  I  liked  my  bow  and  arrows,  and 
father  would  not  let  me  have  these  at  home  because  I 
would  be  shooting  at  the  cats  and  chickens  all  the  time. 
"I  like  my  pony  too,  and  I  could  not  take  him  home," 
I  said,  "and  I  love  you  too.  If  I  went  away  you  could 
not  go  with  me ;  so  taking  it  all  around  I  should  rather 
stay  with  you." 

39 


40  The  White  Indian  Boy 

This  always  seemed  to  please  her ;  for  her  face  would 
light  up  and  sometimes  a  tear  would  steal  down  her 
brown  cheeks,  and  then  she  would  grab  me  and  hug  me 
until  you  could  hear  my  ribs  crack. 

Often  she  would  tell  me  about  her  troubles.  Her  hus 
band  had  been  shot  a  few  years  before  in  the  knee  with  a 
poisoned  arrow  by  the  Crow  Indians.  He  lived  a  little 
over  a  year  after  the  battle,  but  he  suffered  greatly  before 
he  died.  Soon  after  his  death  her  two  boys  named  Piubi 
and  Yaibi  went  out  hunting  mountain  sheep.  While 
they  were  climbing  a  steep  hill,  a  snowslide  crashed  down 
and  buried  them  in  the  deep  gorge  at  the  bottom  of  the 
canyon.  Here  they  lay  until  late  in  the  following  spring. 
The  Indians  tried  to  find  their  bodies  by  pushing  long 
sticks  into  the  snow,  but  they  could  not  locate  them. 

But  their  mother  would  not  give  up  the  search.  She 
told  me  how  she  would  go  out  every  day  and  dig  in  the 
snow  with  a  stick  in  the  hope  of  finding  her  boys,  until 
she  got  so  sick  that  Washakie  and  some  other  Indians 
brought  her  home,  where  she  lay  for  two  months  very 
near  death  from  sorrow  and  exposure. 

As  soon  as  she  could  walk  she  went  up  to  the  snowslide 
again.  The  warmer  weather  by  this  time  had  melted  some 
of  the  snow,  and  she  found  the  body  of  one  of  her  boys 
partly  uncovered.  The  wolves  had  eaten  off  one  of  his 
feet.  She  quickly  dug  the  body  out  of  the  snow,  and 
near  by  she  found  the  other  boy.  She  was  too  weak  to 
carry  them  back  to  the  tepee,  and  she  couldn't  leave 
them  there  to  be  eaten  by  the  wolves,  so  she  stayed  all 
night  watching  over  them. 

The  next  morning  Washakie  found  her  lying  on  the  snow 
beside  the  bodies  of  her  children.  He  took  them  up 
tenderly  and  carried  them  back  to  the  village.  The  poor 
old  mother  was  very  sick  after  that.  During  this  sickness 


My  Indian  Mother  41 

and  delirium  of  grief,  she  dreamed  that  her  youngest  boy 
came  back  to  her,  and  he  was  white.  This  dream  put  into 
her  mind  the  strange  notion  that  she  wanted  a  white 
papoose. 

She  was  just  getting  well  when  the  band  of  Indians 
she  was  with  came  into  the  settlement  where  I  lived  and 
found  me.  When  they  found  that  I  could  talk  the  Indian 
tongue,  they  decided  that  I  was  just  the  boy  for  the  chiefs 
mother.  They  asked  Washakie  about  it.  He  would  not 
let  them  steal  me,  but  he  said  that  if  they  could  lure  me 
away  from  home,  it  was  all  right  with  him.  So  they  set 
to  work,  as  I  have  told,  and  succeeded  in  tempting  me  to 
go  away  with  them. 

My  old  mother  also  told  me  many  things  that  happened 
when  she  was  a  little  girl.  She  said  that  her  father  was 
a  Shoshone,  and  her  mother  a  Bannock.  She  said  she 
was  sixty-two  "snows"  (years)  old  when  I  came.  She 
had  had  four  children,  three  boys  and  a  girl.  When  the 
girl  was  seven  years  old,  she  was  dragged  to  death  by  a 
horse.  Her  two  sons  were  killed  by  the  snowslide,  so 
Washakie  and  I  were  the  only  ones  she  had  left. 

Her  life,  she  said,  had  been  filled  with  sorrow,  but  she 
was  having  better  times  now  than  she  had  ever  had  before. 
If  I  would  stay  with  her,  she  would  be  happy  once  more. 
She  said  she  had  fifteen  head  of  horses  of  her  own.  When 
she  died  she  wanted  Washakie  and  me  to  divide  them  be 
tween  us.  She  also  wanted  me,  when  she  died,  to  bury 
her  as  the  white  folks  bury  their  dead,  as  she  thought 
that  way  was  the  best. 

She  certainly  was  good  to  me,  watching  me  night  and 
day  and  doing  everything  she  could  for  my  comfort,  and 
I  tried  to  be  good  and  kind  to  her  in  return,  but  some 
times,  boylike,  I  forgot.  One  night  I  was  playing  with 
the  Indian  boys.  Our  game  was  killing  white  men.  With 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


J.  E. 


Death's  Canyon,  Teton  Range,  Jackson's  Hole,  Wyoming;    snow  slide 
in  ravine  at  left. 


My  Indian  Mother  43 

our  bows  and  arrows,  we  would  slip  up  to  the  bunches 
of  brush  and  shoot  at  them.  If  we  clipped  off  a  twig  with 
the  arrow,  that  was  a  scalp.  We  would  stick  it  in  our  belts 
and  strut  about  like  big  Injuns. 

While  our  fun  was  on,  I  heard  mother  call,  "Yagaki, 
come  in  and  go  to  bed."  I  paid  no  attention  so  she  came 
out  and  said,  "Why  didn't  you  come  when  I  called  you?" 
"I  didn't  want  to  go  to  bed,"  I  answered  sulkily.  With 
that  she  grabbed  me  by  the  collar  and  jerked  me  toward 
the  tepee.  I  begged  and  promised,  but  she  kept  me 
going  till  she  got  me  inside ;  then  she  flung  me  down  on  a 
pile  of  blankets. 

"Washakie,"  she  said,  "you  must  do  something  with 
this  boy.  He  won't  mind  me."  With  that  she  left  the 
tent  and  I  heard  her  crying  outside. 

The  chief  looked  at  me  a  minute,  then  he  said  quietly : 
"What  is  the  trouble  between  you  and  mother?" 

"Well,  she  won't  let  me  play,"  I  said ;  "she makes  me 
come  in  every  night  before  dark.  The  other  boys  stay 
out ;  I  don't  see  why  I  can't." 

"Mother  knows  why,"  he  said.  "You  should  be  good 
to  her  and  mind  her;  she  is  good  to  you  —  better  than 
she  ever  was  to  me." 

Mother  had  come  in  again.  "Yagaki,"  she  said, 
"you  must  not  stay  out  after  dark.  Those  papooses 
might  kill  you.  They  have  been  trained  to  think  it  is  an 
honor  to  kill  a  white  man.  If  they  could  do  it  without 
being  seen,  they  would  just  as  soon  put  an  arrow  through 
you  as  not.  I  know  what  is  best  for  you,  Yagaki.  You 
must  come  when  I  call." 

I  always  obeyed  her  after  that,  and  we  got  along  very 
well.  She  was  a  dear  old  mother  to  me. 


"  I  went  flying  toward  the  creek." 

CHAPTER  EIGHT 

THE   CROWS 

As  winter  began  to  break  up  we  got  ready  to  move  to  the 
spring  hunting  grounds,  but  when  we  rounded  up  our 
horses  we  found  that  about  fifty  head  of  the  best  ones  were 
missing.  The  Crow  Indians  had  stolen  them.  Our 
Indians  found  their  trail  and  followed  them,  but  the 
Crows  had  so  much  the  start  that  our  braves  could  not 
overtake  them.  We  never  recovered  our  animals. 
Among  the  lost  horses  were  six  that  belonged  to  mother 
and  eleven  of  Washakie's  horses.  My  little  pinto  was  not 
missing,  for  I  had  kept  him  close  to  camp  with  the  horses 
we  had  used  during  the  winter. 

Our  Indians  were  angry.  They  declared  that  they 
would  get  even  with  the  Crows  before  another  winter  had 
passed.  And  I  suppose  they  did  it,  for  the  two  tribes  were 
constantly  stealing  from  each  other.  The  Crows  would 
steal  every  horse  they  could  from  the  Shoshones;  and 
our  Indians  would  do  the  same  with  them.  It  was  as 
fair  for  one  tribe  as  it  was  for  the  other.  They  would 
fight,  too,  every  time  they  met.  Each  tribe  was  always 

44 


The  Crows  45 

on  the  watch  to  get  the  advantage  over  the  other ;  so  we 
were  in  a  constant  state  of  excitement,  and  war  dances 
were  going  on  all  the  time. 

When  we  left  our  winter  camp,  we  started  south.  After 
two  days'  travel,  we  joined  another  large  Indian  camp,  and 
kept  with  them  during  our  wanderings  the  rest  of  the 
summer. 

For  three  or  four  more  days  we  all  traveled  south  again. 
The  game  was  plentiful  here,  elk,  deer,  antelope,  and 
buffalo,  so  we  camped  for  several  days  and  stocked  up  with 
fresh  meat.  Then  we  took  up  the  trail  again,  this  time 
going  east  till  we  came  to  a  beautiful  lake  that  was  fairly 
alive  with  fish.  Oh,  howT  I  did  catch  them ! 

It  was  a  great  game  country,  too.  We  could  see  buffa 
loes  at  any  time  and  in  any  direction  that  we  looked. 
There  were  herds  of  antelope  over  the  flats.  I  had  great 
fun  running  them.  Washakie  said  that  I  was  riding  my 
horse  too  much,  that  he  was  getting  thin.  He  told  me  to 
turn  the  pony  out,  and  he  would  give  me  another  horse. 
I  was  very  glad  to  let  my  little  pinto  have  a  rest  and  get 
fat  again. 

The  horse  that  Washakie  gave  me  was  a  pretty  roan, 
three  years  old,  and  partly  broken.  When  the  chief  saw 
how  well  I  managed  my  new  horse,  he  said  that  I  might 
break  some  other  young  horses  for  him  to  pay  for  the  roan. 
That  just  suited  me,  for  I  liked  the  excitement  of  training 
wild  horses.  The  Indian  ponies  were  small,  especially 
the  colts  that  he  wanted  broken.  I  wanted  to  get  right 
at  it,  but  he  said  that  I  must  wait  till  they  got  fat,  so  that 
they  could  buck  harder. 

At  this  time  we  were  not  far  from  the  Crow  country. 
There  was  a  dispute  between  the  tribes  about  the  boundary 
line  that  divided  our  hunting  grounds  from  theirs.  One 
day  some  of  our  hunters  came  rushing  to  camp  badly 


46 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


The  Crows 


47 


scared.  They  said  that  the  Crows  were  right  on  us.  I 
never  saw  such  excitement  in  my  life.  Everybody  in 
camp  was  running  about  and  talking  excitedly.  The 
bucks  were  getting  ready  to  fight ;  the  horses  were  rounded 
up  and  driven*  into  camp.  It  was  a  great  mixup  —  horses, 
squaws,  dogs,  papooses,  tepees,  and  bucks  all  jumbled 
together. 

The  War  Chief  ordered  the  young  warriors  to  go  out 
and  meet  the  Crows.  The  old  men  were  left  to  guard 
camp.  I  started  to  get  my  horse. 

"  If  I  am  going  to  fight,"  I  said,  "  I  want  my  pinto  pony." 

Mother  stopped  me,  "Here,  you  little  dunce,"  she  said, 
"you  are  not  going  to  fight.  You  couldn't  fight  any 
thing.  I  don't  believe  there  is  going  to  be  a  fight  anyway. 
I  have  had  too  many  such  Crow  scares." 

I  wondered  whether  the  Crows  had  wings  like  the  crows 
in  our  country.  She  said  that  they  were  Indians  like  the 
Shoshones. 

By  this  time  the  squaws  had  everything  packed  and 


A  Crow  encampment  (Crow  Agency,  Montana). 


48  The  White  Indian  Boy 

ready  to  fling  on  to  the  horses  that  were  standing  about 
with  their  saddles  on.  The  old  bucks  were  gathered  in 
small  groups  here  and  there  talking  all  at  the  same  time. 
But  the  excitement  soon  passed  over ;  for  the  warriors 
came  back  after  a  little  while  to  tell  us  that  it  was  not 
Crows  at  all  but  a  herd  of  buffaloes  that  had  caused  the 
scare.  I  was  rather  disappointed,  for  I  wanted  to  see 
some  fun.  I  began  to  think  that  they  were  cowards  — 
the  whole  bunch  of  them.  But  they  were  not.  The 
next  day  a  band  of  about  fifty  young  warriors  left  for  some 
place.  I  could  not  find  out  where  they  were  going,  but 
they  seemed  to  mean  business. 

For  a  while  after  this  scare  everything  passed  off 
peacefully.  We  fished  and  chased  antelope,  and  one  day 
I  went  with  Washakie  up  into  the  mountains  to  kill  elk. 
We  had  not  gone  far  till  we  saw  a  large  herd  of  these 
animals  lying  down.  Leaving  our  horses,  we  crept  up 
close  to  them.  Washakie  had  a  good  gun,  and  at  his  first 
shot  he  hit  a  big  cow  elk.  She  ran  about  a  minute  before 
she  fell.  The  chief  told  me  to  slip  up  and  shoot  her  in 
the  neck  with  my  arrows  till*  she  was  dead,  then  to  cut 
her  throat  so  that  she  would  bleed  freely;  and  to  stay 
there  till  he  came  back.  Well,  I  crept  up  as  close  as  I 
dared,  and  shot  every  arrow  I  had  at  her.  Then  I  climbed 
a  tree.  I  guess  she  was  dead  before  I  shot  her,  but  I  was 
not  sure,  for  I  was  afraid  to  go  up  near  enough  to  see. 
Washakie  followed  the  herd  that  ran  down  the  canyon. 

'I  stayed  up  the  tree  for  some  time,  then  came  down 
quietly  and  went  up  to  the  elk  and  threw  sticks  at  her, 
but  she  did  not  move,  so  I  plucked  up  courage  and  cut 
her  throat.  She  had  been  dead  so  long  that  she  did  not 
bleed  a  bit. 

I  waited  and  waited  for  Washakie  to  come  back.  After 
a  while  I  began  to  get  scared.  I  thought  that  the  bears 


The  Crows 


49 


would  smell  the  elk  and 
finding  me  there  would 
eat  me  up,  so  I  put  off 
to  where  we  had  left 
our  horses ;  but  I  could 
not  find  them.  Then 
I  started  back  to  the 
elk,  but  I  could  not  find 
it.  I  was  so  bewildered 
that  I  did  not  know 
what  to  do.  The  tim 
ber  was  thick,  and  I  was 
getting  more  scared  all 
the  time.  I  tried  again 
to  find  our  horses  and 
failed.  By  this  time  the 
sun  had  gone  down,  and 
it  was  very  gloomy 
among  the  trees.  I 
climbed  another  tree 
and  waited  for  a  long 

time.    I  was  afraid  to  call  for  fear  of  bringing  a  bear  on 
to  me. 

Afterwards,  I  learned  that  I  had  not  left  the  elk  long 
before  Washakie  came  and  took  the  entrails  out  of  it,  and 
as  he  did  not  see  my  horse,  he  thought  that  I  had  gone  to 
camp.  Before  following  the  elk,  he  had  tied  my  horse  to 
a  tree,  but  it  had  broken  loose  and  run  away.  When 
Washakie  reached  camp,  some  Indians  told  him  that  they 
had  seen  my  horse  loose  with  the  saddle  on.  He  did  not 
know  what  to  do.  Mother  was  frantic.  She  started  right 
out  to  hunt  me,  and  a  big  band  of  Indians  followed  her. 

A  little  while  after  dark  I  heard  the  strange  noise  they 
were  making.  I  thought  the  Crows  were  after  me ;  so  I 


A  Crow  Indian 


50  The  White  Indian  Boy 

kept  quiet,  but  pretty  soon  I  heard  some  one  calling  — 
"Yagaki!  Yagaki!"  Then  I  knew  that  it  was  one  of 
our  Indians,  so  I  answered  him.  In  a  little  while  there 
was  a  crackling  of  brush  right  under  my  tree. 

"Where  were  you?"  he  shouted. 

"Here  I  am,"  I  said. 

"What  were  you  doing  up  there?"  he  asked. 

"Looking  for  my  horse." 

"Well,  you  won't  find  him  up  there,"  he  said.  "Gome 
down  here." 

I  minded  him  in  a  hurry. 

"Now,  get  on  behind  me,"  he  said;  "the  whole  tribe 
is  looking  for  you,  and  your  poor  mother  is  nearly  crazy 
about  you.  It  would  be  better  for  her  if  some  one  would 
kill  you,  and  I  have  a  notion  to  do  it.  It  would  save  her 
lots  of  trouble."  » 

When  he  got  out  of  the  timber,  he  began  to  halloo  just 
as  loud  as  he  could  to  let  the  rest  know  that  I  was  found. 
Then  I  could  hear  the  Indians  yelling  all  through  the 
woods.  We  reached  camp  before  mother  came  in,  and  I 
wanted  to  go  back  to  look  for  her,  but  Hanabi  would  not 
let  me.  She  said  that  I  might  get  lost  again ;  that  I  had 
given  mother  trouble  enough  for  one  night. 

It  was  not  long  before  mother  came.  She  grabbed  me 
in  her  arms  and  said,  "Yagaki,  Yagaki,  where  have  you 
been?  I  was  afraid  a  bear  had  eaten  you."  She  talked 
and  cried  for  almost  an  hour.  She  blamed  Washakie  for 
leaving  me  alone  and  said  that  I  should  never  go  off  with 
him  again ;  she  would  keep  me  close  to  her. 

The  next  morning  I  went  with  mother  and  another 
squaw  to  get  the  elk.  Washakie  asked  me  if  I  thought 
I  could  find  it.  I  told  him  that  I  knew  I  could,  so  we 
started  and  I  led  them  right  to  it.  As  we  were  skinning 
the  elk,  mother  said  that  I  had  spoiled  the  skin  by 


The  Crows  51 

shooting  it  so  full  of  holes.  But  the  meat  was  fat  and 
tender. 

About  ten  days  after  this  our  band  of  young  warriors 
came  back.  They  had  captured  thirty-two  head  of  horses, 
but  one  of  our  Indians  had  been  killed  in  the  skirmish 
they  had  with  the  Crows.  One  of  the  band  told  me  all 
about  their  raid.  He  said  that  they  went  over  to  the  head 
waters  of  the  Missouri  River  —  Sogwobipa,  the  Indians 
called  it.  There  they  found  a  small  band  of  Crow  Indians, 
but  the  Crows  had  seen  them  first,  and  were  ready  for  them. 
Just  after  dark  our  Indians  tried  to  run  off  a  band  of  Crow 
horses  they  had  seen,  but  they  were  met  with  a  shower 
of  arrows  and  a  few  bullets  which  killed  one  of  their  party 
and  wounded  five  or  six  of  their  horses.  One  horse  was 
so  badly  crippled  that  he  could  not  travel,  so  the  rider 
jumped  on  to  the  horse  belonging  to  the  dead  Indian 
and  they  all  broke  back  as  fast  as  their  horses  could  carry 
them.  They  were  chased  by  the  Crows  all  night,  but 
they  finally  made  their  escape. 

A  few  days  after  this  as  they  were  going  through  a 
range  of  mountains,  they  came  suddenly  upon  a  small 
band  of  Crows,  killed  two  of  them  and  took  all  their 
horses.  They  thought  the  whole  tribe  of  Crows  was 
following  them,  so  they  made  a  bee  line  for  home.  I 
thought  it  was  pretty  rough  for  about  fifty  to  jump  on  a 
few  like  that,  kill  some  and  rob  the  rest  of  their  horses. 
I  think  that  Washakie  did  not  like  it  either.  When  I  told 
him  that  it  was  not  fair,  he  said  it  was  too  bad,  but  that 
the  Crows  would  have  treated  us  just  the  same. 

The  Indians  were  uneasy.  They  felt  sure  that  the 
Crows  would  follow  and  attack  us  any  minute,  so  we  kept 
a  strong  guard  out  all  the  time.  Washakie  thought  it 
best  to  get  a  little  farther  from  the  border  line  and  in  a 
more  open  country  where  they  could  watch  the  horses 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


The  Crows  53 

better.  The  Indians  did  not  appear  to  value  their  own 
lives  so  much  as  they  did  their  horses. 

I  asked  Washakie  why  it  would  not  be  better  for  the 
chiefs  to  get  together,  talk  the  matter  over,  and  stop 
this  stealing  and  fighting.  He  laughed  and  said  that 
when  I  got  older  I  might  fix  things  to  suit  myself,  but  as 
things  were  going  there,  he  had  to  be  a  little  careful. 
Some  of  his  men  would  rather  be  fighting  than  at  peace ; 
and  Pocatello  was  poisoning  the  minds  of  as  many  of  the 
tribe  as  he  could  with  the  spirit  of  war,  to  draw  them 
away  with  him.  For  his  part,  Washakie  said,  he  would 
rather  live  at  peace. 

The  camp  packed  up  and  made  a  start  from  the  open 
country.  We  made  a  long  string  of  Indians,  horses,  and 
dogs  trailing  through  the  hills.  For  about  a  week  we  kept 
traveling  southward  along  the  river  that  came  out  of  the 
beautiful  lake  until  we  reached  another  large  stream. 
When  these  two  streams  came  together,  they  made  a 
very  large  river.  It  was  the  Piupa,  or  Snake  River,  which 
we  had  crossed  before.  We  pitched  our  tepees  by  a 
stream  that  flowed  into  the  north  fork  of  this  big  river. 
It  was  not  very  wide,  but  it  was  deep  and  full  of  fish. 
We  papooses  had  heaps  of  fun  catching  them. 

After  we  had  been  in  camp  here  a  few  days,  Washakie 
told  me  that  I  might  begin  breaking  the  colts.  That  was 
more  fun  for  me.  We  caught  one,  tied  it  to  a  tree  and  let 
it  stand  there  until  it  stopped  pulling  back,  then  we  led 
it  to  water.  We  staked  it  out  near  camp  and  let  it  stay 
there  to  feed  all  night.  The  next  morning  I  found  that  I 
could  lead  it  alone  to  water,  so  I  thought  I  would  try  to 
ride  it. 

I  was  putting  my  saddle  on  it  when  mother  said,  "You 
had  better  ride  it  bareback."  I  told  her  that  I  could  not 
stay  on  without  my  saddle,  so  she  told  me  to  do  as  I  liked. 


54 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


Howard  R.  Drlggs 

Crow  Indian  ponies  feeding  among  the  sage.     From  a  photograph  taken 
near  Custer  battle-field,  Montana. 

The  colt,  however,  objected  so  strongly  to  being  saddled 
that  he  came  near  getting  away  from  me. 

"Put  a  blanket  over  its  head,  so  it  cannot  see,"  said 
mother. 

I  tied  the  broncho  to  a  brush,  threw  a  blanket  over  its 
head,  and  mother  helped  me  to  tie  it  on.  By  this  time 
about  fifty  kids  had  gathered  around  to  see  the  fun. 
When  the  saddle  was  cinched,  mother  said,  "Now  get  on 
and  I  will  pull  the  blanket  off  its  head." 

I  mounted  carefully  and  then  said,  "Let  him  go."  Off 
came  the  blanket  and  away  went  the  horse.  He  whirled 
and  sprang  into  the  air,  coming  down  with  his  head  be 
tween  his  forelegs.  I  went  flying  toward  the  creek, 
and  I  didn't  stop  till  I  got  to  the  bottom  of  it.  When  I 
crawled  out  and  wiped  the  water  out  of  my  eyes,  I  could 
see  that  colt  going  across  the  prairie  with  my  sacjdle  under 
his  belly  and  kicking  at  every  jump. 

"Let  him  go,"  said  my  mother,  as  I  started  after  him. 

I  said  I  would  ride  that  horse  if  I  never  killed  another 
Indian. 


The  Crows  55 

"How  many  have  you  killed?"    she  asked  in  surprise. 

"Not  half  as  many  as  I  am  going  to,"  I  said.  "And  I 
have  half  a  notion  to  start  in  on  some  of  these  black  imps 
that  are  laughing  at  me." 

When  I  got  some  dry  clothes  on,  a  young  Indian  rode 
up  on  a  horse  and  I  got  him  to  go  and  catch  the  colt  for 
me.  He  brought  the  broncho  back  and  helped  me  tie  a 
strap  around  him  so  tight  I  could  just  put  my  fingers 
under  it,  then  he  held  the  colt  while  I  -got  on  him. 

When  I  said,  "Let  him  go !"  the  colt  leaped  into  a  run 
and  the  young  Indian  followed  after  me,  keeping  it  out  of 
the  brush  and  away  from  the  horses  that  were  staked 
around.  The  colt  soon  got  tired  and  stopped  running.  I 
had  a  fine  ride.  After  a  while  we  went  back  to  camp  and 
I  staked  the  colt  out  for  the  night.  The  next  day  I  rode 
the  broncho  again,  and  very  soon  I  had  it  well  trained. 

It  took  mother  and  me  some  time  to  gather  up  my  saddle, 
and  when  we  got  it  together  we  could  hardly  tell  what 
it  had  been  in  the  first  place ;  but  after  about  a  week  of 
mending,  we  made  it  a  great  deal  stouter  than  it  was. 
The  next  colt  was  not  so  fractious  and  I  soon  got  so  that 
I  could  ride  any  of  them  without  much  trouble. 

About  this  time  we  had  another  stampede.  One  night 
a  guard  came  running  into  camp  with  the  word  that  he  had 
seen  a  big  band  of  Crows  coming.  It  was  in  the  middle 
of  the  night,  but  all  of  the  squaws  and  papooses  were 
pulled  out  of  bed  and  ordered  to  get  into  the  brush  and 
stay  there  till  morning.  I  told  mother  that  I  would  not 
go  one  step  without  my  horse.  She  said  that  I  could  not 
find  him  in  the  dark,  but  I  was  certain  that  I  knew  right 
where  he  was,  and  off  I  put  with  mother  after  me  calling, 
"  Yagaki,  Yagaki,  come  back,  come  back."  I  outran  her, 
however,  and  happened  to  find  my  pinto.  Jumping  on 
it  I  dashed  back  to  mother.  She  scolded  me  and  told  me 


56  The  White  Indian  Boy 

that  the  Crows  might  have  got  me ;  but  I  said  I  would 
have  to  see  the  Crows  before  I  believed  there  were  any 
within  a  hundred  miles  of  us. 

The  Indians,  however,  gathered  up  all  their  horses  and 
stayed  around  them  all  night.  Mother,  Hanabi,  and  I 
went  down  to  the  river  about  a  mile  away  to  hide  among 
the  willows  and  trees  with  seven  or  eight  hundred  other 
squaws  and  papooses.  They  made  such  a  racket  with  their 
excited  talking  and  crying  that  no  one  could  sleep.  All 
of  them  expected  to  be  killed  before  morning. 

But  morning  came  and  no  Crows.  The  Indians  were 
mad  as  hornets,  or  at  least  they  acted  that  way.  Washakie 
sent  out  some  men  to  where  the  guard  said  he  saw  the 
Crows.  They  found  that  he  had  seen  only  a  big  dust  and 
thought  it  was  made  by  their  enemies.  I  asked  Washakie 
if  he  thought  that  there  was  any  real  danger  of  the  Crows 
coming  to  attack  us.  He  said  that  he  did  not  think 
they  would  come  to  fight  us  in  this  place,  but  that  they 
might  try  to  steal  our  horses,  or  even  attack  small  bands  of 
our  Indians  if  they  ran  on  to  them  away  from  camp. 

Every  once  in  a  while  after  that  we  would  have  a  Crow 
scare.  If  the  Indians  saw  a  cloud  of  dust,  they  thought 
the  Crows  were  after  them.  They  acted  like  a  band  of 
sheep  that  had  been  run  by  coyotes.  Every  little  thing 
would  scare  them.  It  made  me  tired  to  see  them  so 
cowardly.  I  told  Washakie  that  I  did  not  think  they 
would  fight  if  they  had  a  chance. 

"When  are  you  going  to  send  more  Indians  out  to  steal 
the  Crows'  horses?  "  I  asked  him. 

"Why,  do  you  want  to  go  with  them?" 

I  told  him  that  I  had  not  lost  any  horses. 

"Well,  we  have,"  he  said,  "and  we  are  going  to  get  them 
back  before  snow  flies.  The  War  Chief  will  attend  to  that." 

I  found  out  afterwards  that  Washakie  meant  business. 
He  was  no  coward. 


"  I  flung  the  lasso  over  his  head  and  jerked  him  from  his  pony." 

CHAPTER  NINE 

PAPOOSE   TROUBLES 

AFTER  this  second  Crow  scare,  things  quieted  down  again. 
I  kept  on  breaking  colts,  and  whipping  kids  once  in  a 
while.  One  day  while  I  was  riding  a  wild  colt,  the  boy 
whom  I  had  kicked  before  for  trying  to  see  my  sore  legs 
began  to  act  smart  again.  He  was  riding  with  other 
papooses  along  with  me  to  see  the  fun,  and  every  once  in 
a  while  he  would  poke  my  pony  with  a  stick  to  see  him 
jump.  I  warned  him  once  or  twice  to  quit;  but  this 
only  seemed  to  make  him  worse. 

I  had  a  long  rawhide  rope  around  the  colt's  neck,  and 
I  made  a  noose  in  the  loose  end.  When  he  punched  my 
horse  again,  I  flung  the  lasso  over  his  head  and  jerked 
him  from  his  pony.  This  scared  my  broncho  and  he  broke 
into  a  run.  Before  I  could  stop  him,  I  had  nearly  choked 
the  life  out  of  that  kid.  The  blood  was  coming  out  of 
his  nose  and  mouth  and  I  thought  that  I  had  surely  killed 
him ;  but  as  soon  as  I  loosened  the  rope,  he  began  to  bawl, 
and  when  he  got  up  he  put  out  for  camp  on  the  dead 
run,  yelling  and  groaning  as  if  he  was  being  murdered. 

57 


58  The  White  Indian  Boy 

I  started  for  camp,  too,  for  I  knew  that  things  would  be 
popping  pretty  soon.  As  he  passed  our  camp,  mother 
asked  who  had  hurt  him.  "Yagaki!"  he  cried,  running 
on  to  his  mother. 

Before  I  got  home,  mother  met  me  and  asked,  "What 
have  you  been  doing,  Yagaki  ?  " 

"Trying  to  kill  that  blamed  kid,"  I  said. 

"Well,  you  have  nearly  done  it  this  time,"  she  said. 
"How  did  it  happen?" 

I  told  her  all  about  it. 

"It  will  cause  another  camp  fight,"  she  said. 

I  turned  loose  the  colt  I  was  riding  and  started  after 
my  pinto  pony. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  she  asked  me. 

"After  my  horse." 

"What  for?" 

"Because  I  want  him." 

When  I  had  caught  and  saddled  my  pony  I  saw  the 
boy  and  his  father  and  mother  with  some  more  Indians 
coming  towards  our  tent.  I  jumped  on  my  horse  and 
started  off.  Mother  called  to  me  to  stop,  but  I  kept  on 
going.  I  thought  that  if  they  wanted  to  fight  they  could 
fight;  I  was  going  to  get  out  of  it  as  fast  as  my  pinto 
could  carry  me,  so  I  went  up  the  river  and  hid  in  the 
brush.  After  dark  I  heard  the  Indians  calling  "Yagaki, 
Yagaki,"  but  I  would  not  answer  them. 

After  a  while  the  mosquitoes  got  so  bad  in  the  brush 
that  I  could  not  stay  there,  so  when  everything  was  still 
I  crept  out,  but  I  did  not  know  where  to  go  or  what  to  do. 
I  sat  down  on  a  stump  and  tried  to  decide.  I  knew  that 
there  would  be  a  racket  in  camp  and  I  felt  bad  on  account 
of  mother,  but  I  was  not  a  bit  sorry  for  the  papoose  I 
had  hurt;  just  then  I  almost  wished  I  had  killed  him. 
I  had  some  pretty  mean  feelings  as  I  sat  there  on  the 


Papoose  Troubles 


59 


Bur.  Am.  Ethnology,  Smithsonian  Institution 
Indian  girls  carrying  water. 

stump.     I  was  more  homesick  than  I  had  ever  been 
before. 

It  was  not  a  very  pleasant  situation,  I  tell  you,  to  be  so 
far  away  from  home  among  a  lot  of  Indians  who  were  mad  at 
me.  I  did  not  know  but  that  they  would  kill  me.  I  was 
worried  ;  but  after  thinking  the  matter  over  I  decided  that 
it  would  be  better  for  me  to  go  back  and  face  the  music. 


60  The  White  Indian  Boy 

When  I  got  near  camp  I  met  a  lot  of  Indians  that 
mother  had  sent  out  to  hunt  me.  They  said  that  Washakie 
was  also  out  trying  to  find  me.  When  I  asked  them  what 
the  Indians  were  going  to  do  to  me,  they  said  that  they 
would  do  nothing,  that  I  had  done  what  any  of  them 
would  have  done.  I  told  them  that  I  was  afraid  that  it 
would  start  another  camp  fight,  but  they  laughed  and 
said  it  would  not.  This  made  me  feel  much  better. 

When  I  reached  camp,  mother  asked  me  where  I  had 
been.  I  told  her  and  she  said  I  was  a  foolish  boy  for 
running  away  like  that.  "Well,"  I  said,  "I  thought  it 
might  stop  another  camp  fight  if  I  went  away." 

It  was  not  long  before  Washakie  returned.  He  gave  me 
a  long  talk,  telling  me  not  to  run  away  any  more  but  to 
come  to  him  if  I  got  into  trouble  again.  He  would  see 
that  I  did  not  get  hurt.  I  told  him  that  I  thought  I  had 
better  go  home,  for  I  was  always  getting  into  trouble 
and  making  it  hard  for  mother  and  him.  He  told  me  he 
would  not  let  me  go  home  for  that,  but  advised  me  to  be 
a  little  more  careful,  as  I  might  have  killed  the  boy.  "A 
rope  tied  to  a  wild  horse  and  around  a  boy's  neck,"  he 
said,  "is  not  much  fun  for  the  boy." 

"Well  I  forgot  about  the  rope's  being  tied  to  the  horse," 
I  said,  "the  boy  made  me  so  mad  that  I  did  not  know 
what  I  was  doing." 

Washakie  said  that  the  boy's  neck  was  badly  skinned 
and  that  his  father  and  mother  were  very  angry  about  it, 
but  that  he  would  try  to  calm  them.  The  other  papooses 
who  saw  it  thought  that  I  did  just  right.  The  chief  had 
a  long  talk  with  the  boy's  parents,  and  I  heard  no  more 
about  it,  but  I  saw  the  boy  wearing  a  greasy  rag  about 
his  neck,  and  whenever  I  came  near,  he  would  look  very 
savagely  at  me. 

The  mosquitoes  made  us  move  from  this  camp.    We 


Papoose  Troubles 


61 


A  white-tailed  deer. 


Albert  Schlechten,  Bozeman,  Mont. 


62  The  White  Indian  Boy 

went  east  nearly  to  the  Teton  Peaks,  where  we  found 
game  plentiful  and  the  streams  full  of  trout.  The  valley 
with  its  river  running  north  and  south  through  the  middle 
of  it  was  beautiful.  There  was  no  timber  on  the  banks 
of  the  stream,  but  it  was  bordered  with  great  patches  of 
willows  from  one  to  two  miles  wide  extending  for  about 
twenty  miles  along  it.  The  white-tailed  deer  were 
plentiful  among  the  willows.  I  killed  five  while  we  were 
there  and  mother  tanned  the  skins  and  made  a  suit  of 
clothes  for  me  out  of  them.  The  clothes  were  nice  and 
warm.  The  Indians  also  killed  a  number  of  moose  among 
the  willows. 

Waskahie  told  me  that  his  tribe  had  had  a  great  fight 
with  the  Sioux  Indians  in  this  valley  many  years  before 
when  he  was  a  small  boy.  He  said  that  his  people  lost 
a  great  many  of  their  best  men.  He  took  me  all  over 
the  battle  ground. 

j  We  stayed  in  this  valley  about  thirty  days  and  I  began 
again  breaking  colts.  When  I  brought  up  the  first  one, 
mother  said,  "Leave  your  rope  here."  I  told  her  I  could 
not  manage  the  colt  without  it. 

"Well,  don't  use  it  on  any  more  papooses,"  she  said, 
and  I  minded  her. 

.  The  Indians  killed  a  great  many  elk,  deer,  and  moose 
while  in  this  valley,  and  the  squaws  had  all  they  could 
do  tanning  the  skins  and  drying  the  meat.  I  asked 
Washakie  if  he  was  planning  to  winter  in  this  valley. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  replied.  "The  snow  falls  too  deep  here. 
After  the  buffalo  get  fat,  and  we  kill  all  we  want  for  our 
winter  use,  we  will  go  a  long  way  west  out  of  the  buffalo 
country,  but  where  there  are  plenty  of  deer  and  antelope 
and  fish.  Some  of  the  fish,"  he  said,  "are  as  long  as  you 
are." 

Berries  were  getting  ripe,  so  we  papooses  would  go  with 


Papoose  Troubles  63 

our  mothers  up  in  the  hills  and  gather  them  to  dry.  It 
was  great  fun.  One  day,  however,  things  got  pretty 
exciting.  We  were  in  a  canyon  busy  gathering  the 
berries  when  all  at  once  we  heard  a  terrible  screaming. 
Pretty  soon  there  came  a  crowd  of  squaws  and  papooses. 
One  was  yelling,  "A  bear  has  killed  my  girl." 

I  jumped  on  my  pinto  pony,  for  I  was  riding  him  that 
day,  and  started  up  through  the  brush  as  fast  as  I  could 
go.  When  I  got  a  little  way  up  the  canyon,  where  the 
brush  was  not  so  thick,  I  could  see  a  bear  running  up  the 
hill.  I  went  a  little  farther  and  found  the  girl  stretched 
out  on  the  ground  as  if  she  were  dead.  Then  I  shouted 
as  loudly  as  I  could  for  some  of  the  Indians  to  come  back, 
but  they  had  all  gone.  I  tried  to  lift  her  on  to  my  horse 
but  she  was  too  heavy  for  me,  so  I  laid  her  down  again. 
Then  she  asked  me  for  a  drink.  I  took  the  cup  she  had 
been  picking  berries  in  and  gave  her  some  water.  Then 
she  said  she  felt  better. 

"Where  is  my  mother?"  she  asked. 

I  told  her  that  they  had  all  run  down  the  canyon  like 
scared  sheep.  Then  I  helped  her  to  her  feet.  She  was 
crying  all  the  time,  and  she  said  that  her  head  and  side 
and  arm  hurt  her  very  much.  I  asked  her  if  she  could 
ride.  She  said  she  would  try,  so  I  helped  her  up  on  my 
horse  and  led  it  until  we  got  out  of  the  canyon.  Then 
she  told  me  to  get  on  behind  her  as  she  thought  she  could 
guide  the  horse.  We  had  about  four  miles  to  go,  so  I 
climbed  upon  the  pony  with  her. 

When  we  got  in  sight  of  camp  we  saw  some  Indians 
coming  full  tilt,  and  when  they  met  us  there  was  the 
greatest  hubbub  I  ever  heard.  When  we  reached  the 
camp  the  girl's  mother  came  running  up  and  threw  her 
arms  about  the  girl  and  acted  as  if  she  were  crazy.  She 
would  have  hugged  me  too  if  I  had  been  willing.  She 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


A  black  bear. 


New  York  Zoological  Society 


said  that  I  was  a  brave  boy.  Mother  came  up  and  said, 
"Yagaki,  I  thought  you  had  come  down  to  camp  ahead 
of  me  or  I  never  would  have  come  without  you." 

"Oh,  you  were  as  scared  as  any  of  them,"  I  said. 

"I  know  I  was  scared,"  she  said,  "but  I  never 
would  have  left  you,  if  I  had  known  you  were  still  in 
the  canyon." 

That  night  the  girl's  father  and  mother  came  to  our 
tepee  to  see  what  I  wanted  for  saving  their  daughter's 
life.  I  told  them  that  I  wanted  nothing. 

"You  are  a  good,  brave  boy,"  said  her  father. 

I  asked  her  mother  why  she  ran  away  and  left  the  girl. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "I  saw  the  bear  knock  my  girl  down 
and  jump  on  her  and  I  thought  she  was  dead,  and  I 
thought  the  bear  would  kill  me,  then  there  would  be  two 
of  us  dead." 

The  father  said  that  the  bears  killed  many  people  be 
cause  they  tried  to  help  the  one  that  was  first  caught. 
He  felt  that  it  was  better  for  the  rest  to  run.  I  did  not 


Papoose  Troubles  65 

agree  with  him.  I  thought  that  everybody  should  help 
kill  the  bear  even  if  they  did  run  the  risk  of  getting 
killed. 

"Yes,  you  have  already  shown  what  you  would  do," 
said  my  mother.  "You  are  a  brave  boy." 

"It  was  a  brave  act  for  a  boy,"  said  Washakie;  "but 
we  must  not  brag  too  much  about  Yagaki  or  he  will  begin 
to  think  he  is  a  great  hero.  It  is  about  time  we  went  to 
sleep." 

The  girl's  mother  told  me  that  I  might  have  her  daughter 
for  a  wife  when  I  got  big  enough ;  but  I  told  her  she  could 
keep  the  girl,  I  did  not  want  her. 

The  next  day  I  wanted  mother  and  the  other  Indians 
to  go  up  the  canyon  after  more  service  berries,  but  they 
wouldn't  go  a  step.  They  had  had  bear  scares  enough  for 
that  time.  The  Indians  left  the  bears  alone  unless  they 
caught  these  animals  in  the  open. 

One  morning  we  saw  two  bears  crossing  the  valley. 
About  fifty  Indians  on  horses  started  after  them.  I  ran 
and  got  my  pinto  pony.  When  I  came  back  for  my 
saddle,  mother  asked  where  I  was  going. 

"To  help  kill  those  bears  yonder." 

"No,  you  are  not,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  let  him  go,"  said  Washakie,  and  she  consented. 
I  jumped  on  the  horse  and  started  after  the  bears  as  hard 
as  I  could  go.  The  Indians  had  headed  them  away  from 
the  timber  and  were  popping  arrows  into  them.  My 
horse  was  not  a  bit  scared  so  I  ran  up  to  one  of  the  bears 
and  shot  three  arrows  into  his  side. 

"Keep  back,  you  little  dunce,"  shouted  the  Indians, 
"that  bear  will  tear  you  to  pieces." 

But  the  bear  was  too  full  of  arrows  to  tear  much.  He 
looked  like  a  porcupine  with  his  quills  on  end.  Very  soon 
the  two  bears  dropped  dead ;  but  their  skins  were  so  full 


66 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


S.  N.  Leel,  Jactson,  Wyoming 
A  baby  elk  in  its  hiding  place. 

of  holes  that  they  were  not  worth  much ;  the  meat  was 
not  much  good  either. 

That  night  the  Indians  had  a  big  dance  around  the 
two  hides.  I  joined  in  the  fun  and  sang  as  loud  as  any 
of  them.  They  thought  I  was  pretty  daring.  One  old 
Indian  said,  "The  little  fool  doesn't  know  any  better. 
If  a  bear  once  got  hold  of  him  he  would  not  be  so  brave." 
But  they  gave  me  one  of  the  hides  and  mother  tanned  it 
and  sewed  up  most  of  the  holes.  It  made  me  a  very  good 
robe  to  sleep  in. 

While  we  were  in  this  valley  another  small  band  of 
Indians  joined  us.  The  girl  that  had  hit  me  with  the 
fishing  pole  was  with  them.  When  she  saw  that  the 
other  Indians  liked  me  so  much,  she  wanted  to  make  up 
with  me.  She  came  around  several  times  before  she 
said  anything  to  me,  but  finally  one  day  she  walked  over 
to  where  I  was  helping  mother  stake  down  a  moose  hide 
to  dry  and  said,  "  Yagaki,  I  am  sorry  that  I  hit  you  that 
day  with  the  fish  pole." 

"  J  am  not,"  I  said. 


Papoose  Troubles 


67 


"Why?"  she  asked. 

"Because  we  had  lots  of  fun  that  day." 

"Why  don't  you  be  friends  with  her?"  mother  asked. 

I  said  that  I  did  not  want  to  be  her  friend. 

"You  are  a  mean  boy,"  said  mother;  "you  should  be 
friends." 

"Not  much,"  I  said;  but  I  did  finally  tell  the  girl  that 
it  was  all  right. 

Then  she  wanted  me  to  go  over  to  their  tepee  and 
play,  but  I  told  her  that  I  was  afraid  her  mother  would 
cut  my  head  off. 

"No,"  she  said,  "mother  will  not  hurt  you.  She  feels 
sorry  for  what  we  did  to  your  folks,  and  so  does  my 
father." 

Well,  we  passed  the  trouble  over  and  became  pretty 
good  friends  after  that. 

By  this  time  we  had  gathered  most  of  the  berries  that 
grew  along  the  foothills ;  the  squaws  were  afraid  to  go 
farther  into  the  mountains  after  the  bear  excitement; 


A  squaw  tanning  buckskin. 


Creel 


68  The  White  Indian  Boy 

so  then  they  stopped  berry  picking  and  went  to  work  in 
earnest  tanning  buckskin  and  drying  meat  for  winter 
use.  The  Indians  quit  hunting  for  elk  and  deer;  for 
they  already  had  all  of  the  skins  that  the  women  could 
get  ready  for  the  trading  trip  they  had  planned. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  tribe  to  make  a  journey  almost 
every  fall  to  Salt  Lake  City,  and  other  White  settlements, 
and  swap  their  buckskin  and  buffalo  robes  for  red  blankets, 
beads,  ammunition,  and  other  things  they  needed.  Mother 
and  Hanabi  worked  all  day  and  away  into  "the  night  to 
get  their  skins  ready  in  time,  and  I  helped  them  all  I 
could.  I  got  an  old  horse  and  dragged  down  enough 
wood  to  last  while  we  stayed  there.  I  carried  all  the 
water  for  them,  and  no  kid  dared  to  call  me  a  squaw 
either. 

Finally  the  time  came  for  us  to  begin  killing  buffaloes 
for  our  winter's  supply  of  meat.  We  did  not  have  to 
hunt  them,  however,  for  we  could  see  them  at  any  time 
in  almost  any  direction.  Many  a  time  I  went  out  with 
Washakie  to  watch  the  hunters  kill  the  buffaloes.  Washa- 
kie  wanted  only  five  and  we  soon  got  them ;  but  it  took 
mother  and  Hanabi  a  good  many  days  to  tan  their  hides 
and  get  the  meat  ready  for  winter. 


"  Three  or  four  buckets  of  water  came  over  me." 

CHAPTER  TEN 

A   LONG  JOURNEY 

NOTHING  went  wrong  while  we  were  getting  ready  for 
the  long  trip  to  market,  and  finally  everything  was  in 
shape  to  pack  up.  Our  camp  by  this  time  was  very  large, 
for  Indians  had  been  coming  in  every  few  days  until  there 
were  fully  a  thousand  of  them,  and  there  must  have  been 
as  many  as  five  thousand  horses.  When  we  took  the 
trail,  I  could  not  see  half  of  the  long  string  of  pack  animals. 

We  had  twenty  pack  horses  for  our  own  family,  loaded 
with  buffalo  robes,  elk  and  deer  skins,  and  our  camp  outfit. 
Washakie  had  a  fine  big  tepee  of  elk  hides  made  so  it 
would  shed  rain.  It  could  be  divided  in  two  parts. 
Sometimes  if  we  were  going  to  stop  just  one  night,  we 
would  put  up  only  half  of  it;  but  if  we  made  a  longer 
camp,  we  would  set  up  the  whole  wigwam. 

After  we  were  well  started,  I  noticed  that  the  Indians 
broke  up  into  small  bands.  That  night  there  were  only 
twenty-five  tepees  left  in  our  camp.  Washakie  said 
that  it  was  better  to  travel  in  small  parties,  for  we  could 
make  better  time  and  get  better  pasture  for  our  horses. 

69 


70  The  White  Indian  Boy 

In  two  or  three  days  we  reached  the  big  river  where  I 
had  come  near  choking  the  papoose  to  death  with  my 
rope.  It  was  quite  wide  and  the  current  was  very  swift 
where  we  forded  it.  When  we  got  in  the  deepest  place, 
mother's  horse  stumbled  over  a  boulder  and  fell,  and 
away  went  mother  down  the  stream ;  for  she  could  not 
withstand  the  swift  current.  I  saw  her  going  and  started 
after  her,  but  I  could  not  catch  her  until  she  was  carried 
into  the  deep,  quieter  waters.  My  horse  was  a  good 
swimmer,  and  I  was  soon  at  her  side.  I  pulled  her  to 
the  bank  and  tried  to  help  her  out  of  the  water,  but  the 
willows  were  so  thick  at  this  place  we  had  a  hard  time 
getting  on  land.  Washakie  hurried  to  the  rescue. 

"  You  came  nearly  going  to  the  Happy  Hunting  Grounds 
that  time,  mother,"  he  said. 

Washakie  thought  that  we  had  better  stop  there  so  that 
mother  could  put  on  dry  clothes  and  get  over  her  scare, 
for  he  was  afraid  it  would  make  her  sick.  We  pitched  camp 
for  the  night  by  a  grove  of  cottonwoods  near  the  river. 

Just  before  dark  an  Indian  came  running  in  and  told 
Washakie  that  the  Crows  had  overtaken  a  small  bunch  of 
our  Indians  and  had  killed  them  and  taken  all  their 
horses.  Washakie  ordered  the  War  Chief  to  take  every 
one  of  our  warriors  and  follow  the  Crows  clear  into  the 
Crow  country  if  necessary  to  punish  them.  The  War 
Chief  told  his  men  to  get  ready  for  a  long  trip,  and  the 
women  and  children  to  hide  in  the  willows  until  they 
heard  from  them.  I  never  saw  greater  excitement  among 
the  squaws  and  papooses  than  we  had  that  night.  They 
were  bawling,  and  yelling,  and  rushing  everywhere. 

"Come  on,  Yagaki,"  called  mother,  "let  us  get  into 
the  brush." 

"Not  much,"  I  said,  "I  am  going  with  the  warriors  to 
kill  Crows." 


A  Long  Journey  71 

Mother  grabbed  me  by  one  arm  and  Hanabi  by  the 
other,  and  mother  began  to  cry  and  say  to  Washakie, 

"Make  him  come ;  make  him  come." 

Washakie  laughed  and  said  that  I  was  just  fooling, 
that  I  hadn't  lost  any  Crows.  He  said  that  he  was  going 
to  guard  the  camp. 

"So  am  I,"  I  said.  With  that  mother  let  me  go.  I 
ran  and  caught  my  pinto  pony,  put  my  saddle  and  a  few 
buffalo  robes  on  him  and  went  with  mother  and  Hanabi 
down  the  river.  When  we  reached  the  rest  of  the  crowd, 
I  could  hear  the  papooses  howling  like  a  pack  of  young 
coyotes. 

"What  is  the  use  of  hiding  and  making  such  a  racket?" 
I  asked.  "If  the  Crows  have  any  ears  they  can  hear 
this  noise  for  five  miles." 

Mother  said  that  it  made  no  difference  for  the  Crows 
did  not  dare  to  come  into  the  brush  after  us. 

"Are  the  Crows  as  big  cowards  as  our  Indians?"  I 
asked. 

She  said  that  they  were. 

"Then  there  is  no  danger,"  I  said;  "we  had  better  go 
to  sleep." 

It  was  not  long  before  we  heard  Washakie  call  for  us  to 
come  back. 

"There,"  I  said;  "another  scare  is  over  with  no  Crows 
at  all.  I  shall  never  hide  again." 

When  we  got  to  camp  we  learned  that  a  few  Crows  had 
chased  some  of  our  Indians  and  had  fired  a  few  shots  at 
them,  but  nobody  had  been  killed,  and  not  even  a  horse 
had  been  stolen.  About  fifty  of  our  young  warriors  were 
following  the  Crows ;  but  I  knew  that  they  would  never 
overtake  them. 

The  next  day  we  packed  up  early  and  hit  the  trail 
pretty  hard.  For  several  days  we  headed  south.  We 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


A  Long  Journey  73 

left  the  Piupa,  or  Snake  River,  and  crossed  over  the 
mountains.  Finally  we  came  to  a  place  called  Tosaibi, 
which  I  learned  later  to  be  Soda  Springs,  in  southeastern 
Idaho.  We  could  not  use  the  water  of  these  springs,  so  we 
went  on  a  short  distance  and  camped  on  a  good-sized  river 
which  the  Indians  called  Titsapa ;  this  was  the  Bear  River. 

They  said  that  this  stream  ran  into  a  big  salt  lake  that 
reached  nearly  to  my  old  home.  That  started  me  to 
thinking  about  my  dear  father  and  mother,  my  brothers 
and  sisters  I  should  like  so  much  to  see,  and  I  could  feel 
the  tears  running  down  my  cheeks.  Mother  saw  them 
and  came  and  sat  down  by  my  side. 

"Yagaki,"  she  said,  "I  fear  you  do  not  like  to  live 
with  us." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?"  I  asked. 

"What  are  you  crying  about?" 

I  told  her  that  I  was  thinking  of  my  white  mother. 

"Am  I  not  as  good  to  you  as  your  own  mother?"  she 
asked. 

I  told  her  that  she  was.  But  I  could  not  help  wanting 
to  see  my  white  mother  and  my  people  just  the  same. 

We  followed  down  the  Titsapa  for  one  day's  travel  and 
there  we  stayed  for  three  days.  At  this  place  part  of 
our  band  was  going  to  leave  us  and  make  the  journey  to 
Salt  Lake  City  to  sell  our  robes  and  buckskins  and  what 
furs  we  had.  I  wanted  to  go  with  the  party,  but  mother 
would  not  let  me.  Hanabi  and  Washakie  went.  They 
took  twelve  pack  horses  very  heavily  loaded  and  also 
two  young  horses  to  sell  if  they  got  a  chance.  They  left 
mother  and  me  with  the  camp  outfit  and  sixty-four  head 
of  horses  to  look  after.  Those  that  were  not  going  to 
Salt  Lake  City  intended  to  go  off  northwest  and  strike 
the  head  of  another  river,  about  four  days'  travel  away, 
and  stay  there  till  the  others  returned. 


74  The  White  Indian  Boy 

When  mother  and  I  went  to  packing  up  for  our  return, 
we  found  that  we  did  not  have  pack  saddles  enough  for 
all  of  our  camp  outfit.  Besides  our  tepee,  bedding, 
clothing,  and  utensils,  we  had  sixteen  sacks  of  dried  meat 
and  two  sacks  of  service  berries.  This  was  too  much  for 
our  eight  pack-saddles.  Mother  said  that  we  could  get 
along  if  we  had  two  more  saddles  so  I  told  her  to  use  mine 
for  one  and  I  would  ride  bareback.  She  did  not  like  to 
do  this,  but  she  finally  consented,  and  another  boy  let  us 
have  his  saddle,  so  we  packed  ten  horses.  This  took  a 
good  deal  of  time  each  morning. 

After  three  days  of  slow  traveling  we  reached  the  head 
of  a  stream  which  they  called  Tobitapa ;  the  whites  now 
call  it  the  Portneuf  River.  There  were  fifteen  squaws, 
about  thirty-five  papooses,  and  three  old  men  Indians 
in  our  camp. 

Washakie  thought  it  would  take  them  fifteen  days  to 
go  to  Salt  Lake  City  and  get  back  to  where  we  were. 
I  asked  mother  whether  she  was  not  afraid  that  the  Crows 
would  come  and  kill  all  of  us  while  they  were  gone. 

"No,"  she  said,  "the  Crows  never  come  this  far  south." 

Then  I  asked  her  why  she  did  not  want  me  to  go  to 
Salt  Lake  City  with  the  others.  She  said  that  she  could 
not  take  care  of  so  many  horses  without  me  to  help,  and 
she  was  afraid,  too,  that  the  white  men  would  take  me 
away  from  her. 

"Is  that  the  reason  Washakie  does  not  like  to  take  me 
with  him  when  he  goes  among  the  whites?"  I  asked  her. 

She  told  me  that  Washakie  said  that  if  I  ever  got 
dissatisfied  and  wanted  to  go  home,  he  would  give  me  my 
horse  and  a  good  outfit,  and  see  that  I  got  home  safe. 
"But,"  she  said,  "I  hope  that  you  will  never  want  to  go 
away,  for  I  believe  it  would  kill  me  if  you  should  leave 
me."  I  told  her  not  to  worry  because  I  thought  that  I 


A  Long  Journey  75 

should  always  stay  with  her.  It  always  made  her  seem 
happier  when  I  would  tell  her  that.  If  she  ever  saw  me 
look  unhappy,  she  would  turn  away  and  cry.  She  did 
everything  she  could  to  make  me  happy,  and  I  tried  to 
be  kind  to  her. 

Mother  was  afraid  that  I  would  get  sick  from  not  hav 
ing  bread  and  milk  to  eat,  for  I  told  her  that  was  what  I 
always  had  for  supper  when  I  was  home.  She  thought 
that  eating  meat  all  the  time  would  not  agree  with  me 
and  would  make  me  unhealthy.  Often  she  would  have 
fried  fish  and  fried  chickens  or  ducks  for  supper.  When 
I  first  went  to  live  with  her,  she  made  a  small  sack  and 
tied  it  to  my  saddle.  She  would  keep  this  sack  full  of 
the  best  dried  fish  when  we  were  traveling,  so  that  I  could 
eat  if  I  got  hungry ;  for  she  said  that  I  could  not  go  all 
day  without  eating  anything,  as  the  Indians  often  did. 
Every  morning  she  would  empty  my  lunch  sack  and 
refill  it  with  fresh  food.  She  soon  found  out  what  I  liked 
best,  and  she  always  had  it  for  me ;  so  you  see  I  had  plenty 
to  eat,  even  if  I  was  with  Indians ;  and  that  is  more  than 
a  great  many  white  children  had  at  that  time. 

I  was  very  healthy  while  I  was  with  the  Indians.  I 
think  the  reason  was  that  I  did  not  like  their  way  of 
doctoring.  When  any  of  them  got  a  cold,  they  would 
dig  a  hole  two  or  three  feet  deep  by  the  side  of  a  cold 
spring.  Into  this  hole  they  would  put  a  few  cobblestones. 
Then  they  would  build  a  fire  in  the  hole,  get  the  stones 
right  hot,  and  then  scrape  the  fire  all  out.  The  sick  person 
had  to  get  into  the  hole  with  a  cup  of  water,  and  after 
being  covered  with  a  buffalo  robe,  he  would  pour  the 
water  on  the  hot  rocks  and  make  a  steam.  This  would 
make  him  sweat  like  sixty.  When  he  had  sweated  long 
enough  some  one  would  jerk  off  the  robe  and  he  would 
jump  into  the  cold  water  of  the  spring.  As  soon  as  he 


76 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


Dr.  T.  M.  Bridges 

Indian  sweat  house  covered ;  fire  in  foreground. 


got  out  of  the  water,  they  would  throw  a  buffalo  robe 
around  him,  let  him  sweat  awhile,  then  they  would  cool 
him  off  gradually  by  taking  the  robe  off  a  little  at  a  time 
while  he  quit  sweating.  He  was  then  supposed  to  be 
well. 

One  chilly  day  I  was  out  hunting  chickens,  and  was 
quite  a  distance  from  camp  when  a  heavy  rainstorm  came 
and  soaked  me  through  before  I  could  get  home.  That 
night  I  coughed  and  coughed  so  that  nobody  in  our 
tepee  could  sleep.  The  next  day  mother  wanted  to  dig 
a  hole  for  me.  I  told  her  that  I  did  not  want  a  hole  dug 
for  me  until  I  was  dead.  She  begged  me  to  take  a  sweat. 

"Not  much,"  I  said,  "no  more  of  your  jumping  into 
springs  for  me."  I  had  not  forgotten  how  they  tried  to 
cure  my  sore  legs  with  a  salt-springs  bath. 

She  said  that  it  would  not  hurt  me.  But  I  told  her 
that  I  was  played  out  and  I  would  not  do  it. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "you  need  not  jump  into  the  cold 


A  Long  Journey 


77 


water.  The  heat  of  the  rocks  and  the  steam  from  the 
ground  will  sweat  you  enough." 

"You  had  better  do  it,"  said  Washakie,  "before  you 
get  sick  in  bed." 

"All  right,"  I  said,  "go  to  digging." 

Very  soon  she  had  the  hole  dug  and  everything  ready, 
then  she  said,  "  Come  now,  pull  off  your  clothes  and  get 
in  here." 

"Pull  off  nothing,"  I  said. 

"You  must,"  she  said. 

"Jerk  them  off,"  urged  Washakie;  "I  will  hold  this 
buffalo  robe  over  you  so  that  you  will  not  be  seen." 

So  off  came  my  clothes  and  into  the  hole  I  went.  I  got 
over  the  rocks  just  the  way  an  old  sitting  hen  does  over 
her  eggs.  Mother  gave  me  a  cup  of  water  and  I  poured 
it  over  the  heated  boulders.  She  stood  there  to  keep  the 
robe  over  the  hole  and  kept  asking  me  if  I  was  sweating. 
I  told  her  that  I  was  getting  wetter  than  a  fish ;  but  for 


/pv     /  /    J     :\,;  . 


Framework  of  an  Indian  sweat  house, 


Dr.  T.  M.  Bridges 


78  The  White  Indian  Boy 

some  cause  she  kept  me  for  quite  a  while,  then  she  jerked 
off  the  robe  and  whack!  three  or  four  buckets  of  cold 
water  came  all  over  me.  Oh,  I  jumped  out  of  that  hole 
in  a  hurry ! 

Washakie  stood  there  with  the  robe,  threw  it  over  me, 
carried  me  into  the  tepee  and  put  me  to  bed.  Then 
he  threw  more  robes  over  me,  and  how  I  did  sweat !  It 
was  rough  doctoring,  but  it  cured  my  cold  all  right. 

This  was  after  Washakie  and  his  party  had  got  back 
from  Salt  Lake.  They  were  gone  twenty-two  days  in 
stead  of  fifteen.  Washakie  had  disposed  of  his  robes  and 
skins  at  a  good  price,  and  he  had  sold  the  two  horses,  so 
he  came  back  pretty  well  outfitted  for  the  winter.  He 
had  twenty-four  blankets,  a  lot  of  calico,  some  red  flannel 
for  the  tongues  of  moccasins,  some  underclothing  for  me, 
and  about  a  peck  of  beads  of  all  colors  and  sizes.  The 
beads  were  to  swap  for  tanned  buckskin,  and  the  blankets 
for  buffalo  robes.  He  brought  me  a  butcher  knife,  a  new 
bridle,  two  pounds  of  candy,  and  a  lot  of  fishhooks.  I  felt 
"heap  rich"  and  very  happy. 


"  Away  we  went  to  the  bottom." 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

THE   SNOWY  MOONS 

SNOW  had  already  fallen  on  the  mountain  tops  when 
Washakie  got  back,  so  he  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  the  camp 
moved  to  the  winter  range.  Mother  and  Hanabi  began 
at  once  to  arrange  the  packs  for  traveling.  We  soon 
started  for  our  winter  quarters. 

We  went  down  the  Tobitapa  (Portneuf)  to  the  Piupa 
(Snake  River),  then  up  the  Piupa,  and  then  west  over 
the  divide  on  to  the  headwaters  of  Angitapa  (Rock  Creek). 
At  this  place  we  stayed  six  days  and  killed  sixteen  buffaloes, 
two  for  each  family.  That  was  to  be  the  last  killing  of 
buffaloes  until  the  next  year.  Washakie  bought  four  of 
the  buffalo  hides  from  other  Indians,  which  made  six 
in  all.  He  said  that  he  wanted  something  for  the  women 
to  do  through  the  winter. 

When  we  started  from  here  we  went  west  over  a  big 
mountain  upon  which  we  had  to  camp  in  about  three  feet 
of  snow.  We  had  to  tie  up  all  our  horses  to  keep  them 
from  running  away,  for  we  had  nothing  for  them  to  eat. 
Early  the  next  morning  we  were  off  and  that  night  we 

79 


80  The  White  Indian  Boy 

got  out  of  the  snow,  but  it  was  still  very  cold.  The  next 
day  we  came  to  a  beautiful  stream.  It  was  not  very 
large,  but  it  was  fairly  alive  with  mountain  trout.  We 
went  down  the  stream  two  days'  travel  and  there  we 
stayed  for  about  a  month,  I  think.  Washakie  had  in 
tended  to  winter  here,  but  he  changed  his  mind  and 
followed  the  stream  farther  down  until  he  came  to  another 
river.  I  do  not  remember  what  the  Indians  called  this 
river,  but  they  told  me  that  fish  as  long  as  I  was  tall  came 
up  the  river  in  the  springtime.  We  had  a  very  good 
camping  ground  that  winter.  It  was  sheltered  from  the 
wind,  but  we  had  a  great  deal  more  snow  than  had  fallen 
the  winter  before. 

About  six  hundred  yards  above  our  camp  was  a  large 
grove  of  dry  quaking  aspens,  mostly  small  poles.  I  told 
mother  that  if  she  would  help  me  pile  a  lot  of  them,  I 
would  haul  them  down  with  the  horses.  She  did  not 
believe  that  I  could  do  it,  but  she  helped  me  gather  the 
poles  just  the  same. 

Washakie  had  brought  from  Salt  Lake  City  the  inch 
auger  I  asked  him  to  get  for  me,  so  I  went  to  work  to 
make  a  sled  like  the  one  I  had  seen  my  father  make.  I 
got  two  crooked  sticks  for  runners,  pinned  on  some  cross 
pieces,  and  soon  had  the  thing  ready.  It  did  not  look 
much  like  a  sled,  but  it  answered  the  purpose  pretty  well. 

I  got  up  two  lazy  old  horses  of  mother's,  put  on  their 
pack  saddles  and  tied  ropes  from  the  sleds  to  the  pack 
saddles,  then  I  mounted  one  of  the  horses  and  away  we 
went  for  the  grove.  After  putting  on  quite  a  few  poles 
and  tying  them  on  with  a  rope,  I  took  the  load  to  camp 
without  any  bother  at  all.  All  of  the  Indians  were  out 
watching  me  bring  in  my  first  load  of  wood. 

"What  cannot  a  white  man  do?"  said  the  old  War 
Chief. 


The  Snowy  Moons 


81 


In  a  few  days  I  had  all  of  the  wood  we  needed  down  to 
the  camp.  Hanabi  said  that  I  was  as  good  as  two  squaws. 
After  getting  our  wood  up,  I  lent  the  sled  to  some  of  the 
Indians.  They  thought  they  could  haul  wood  as  well  as 
I  could,  so  they  hitched  up  their  horses  and  started  out. 
But  they  went  on  higher  up  the  hill  where  it  was  steeper 
than  where  I  got  my  wood.  Then  they  put  on  a  big  load 
and  started  down.  The  sled  ran  into  the  horses'  heels, 
scared  them,  and  they  started  to  run.  The  horse  that 
the  Indian  was  riding  broke  loose  from  the  sled,  and  the 
other  horse  ran  away  with  the  sled  fastened  to  him, 
scattering  the  poles  all  over  the  side  of  the  hill,  and  bolt 
ing  down  through  the  camp.  The  sled  jammed  against 
the  tepees  and  jerked  three  or  four  of  them  down. 
Then  the  frightened  horse  struck  out  through  some 
cottonwoods,  slammed  the  sled  against  the  trees,  and 
broke  it  all  to  pieces. 


Shoshone  tepee  with  sagebrush  windbreak. 


82  The  White  Indian  Boy 

This  discouraged  the  Indians.  They  said  that  the 
squaws  could  pack  wood  if  they  wanted  any,  that  it  was 
their  work  anyhow.  That  ended  the  wood  hauling. 

I  got  the  Indian  boys  to  help  me  fix  up  the  sled  again. 
We  pulled  it  up  on  a  hill  with  a  horse  and  turned  it  towards 
camp.  I  wanted  some  of  the  boys  to  get  on  with  me  and 
slide  down,  but  they  were  afraid.  They  said  they  wanted 
to  see  me  do  it  first,  so  away  I  went.  Then  they  came 
down  with  the  horse  and  we  pulled  the  sled  up  again. 
By  hard  begging,  I  got  two  of  them  on  the  sled.  As 
soon  as  we  started,  one  jumped  off,  but  the  other  stayed 
with  me.  When  we  reached  the  bottom,  he  said  it  was 
the  finest  ride  he  ever  had.  The  next  time  several  of 
the  boys  were  ready  to  try  it,  and  five  of  us  got  on.  Away 
we  went  to  the  bottom.  Oh,  what  fun  we  had !  It  was 
not  long  till  they  all  wanted  to  get  on,  and  the  heavier  we 
loaded  it,  the  faster  it  would  go.  When  the  track  got 
slick,  the  sled  would  carry  us  nearly  to  camp. 

We  kept  this  up  for  days.  When  the  track  was  well 
made,  we  would  pull  the  sled  up  without  a  horse.  All 
of  the  big  boys  and  girls  joined  in  the  coasting,  and  some 
times  the  older  Indians  would  ride  too.  The  sled  was 
kept  going  all  the  time,  until  we  wore  the  runners  out. 
After  that  for  fun  we  turned  to  fishing  and  hunting  chick 
ens  and  rabbits.  Sometimes  we  would  go  for  antelope, 
but  when  we  went  for  them,  some  of  the  older  Indians 
would  go  with  us  to  keep  us  from  killing  too  many.  The 
Indians  were  always  careful  to  preserve  the  game. 

Everything  went  off  peacefully  this  winter.  There 
was  no  quarreling  nor  fighting.  One  young  papoose 
and  an  old  squaw  died.  We  lost  no  horses.  We  were 
a  long  way  from  the  Crows,  so  we  had  no  Crow  scares. 
I  had  a  very  good  time,  and  mother  seemed  to  enjoy  the 
winter  as  well  as  I  did. 


The  Snowy  Moons  83 

Along  towards  spring  seven  or  eight  of  us  little  boys 
were  in  the  cottonwoods  shooting  birds  when  one  boy's 
arrow  hit  the  side  of  a  tree,  glanced,  and  struck  me  in 
the  leg.  The  boy  was  badly  scared,  for  he  thought  I  was 
going  to  kick  him  to  pieces,  but  I  told  him  to  stop  crying, 
that  I  knew  it  was  an  accident.  He  quit  crying,  and  the 
other  boys  thought  that  I  was  getting  to  be  a  pretty  good 
fellow  after  all,  for  before  this  they  believed  that  if  any  one 
hurt  me  there  would  be  a  kicking  scrape  right  away. 

Spring  came  at  last.  We  moved  down  the  river  about 
fifteen  miles  where  we  could  get  better  grass  for  our 
horses.  Here  were  plenty  of  white-tailed  deer  and  ante 
lope,  some  elk,  and  a  few  mountain  sheep.  Ducks  and 
geese  also  were  plentiful. 

We  stayed  here  until  about  the  middle  of  May.  The 
big  fish  they  had  told  me  about  began  to  come  up  the 
river.  And  they  were  really  big  ones ;  two  of  them  made 
all  the  load  I  could  carry.  They  must  have  weighed 
thirty  or  thirty-five  pounds  each.  Mother  and  Hanabi 
dried  about  two  hundred  pounds  of  these  fish.  I  after 
wards  learned  that  they  were  salmon.  The  first  that 
came  up  were  fat  and  very  good,  but  they  kept  coming 
thicker  and  thicker  until  they  were  so  thin  that  they  were 
not  fit  to  eat. 

After  a  while  we  moved  camp  again,  going  down  the 
river  a  little  farther  and  then  up  a  deep  and  rocky  canyon 
where  there  had  been  many  snowslides  during  the  winter. 
We  crossed  over  snow  that  had  come  down  in  these  slides 
that  was  forty  or  fifty  feet  deep  and  was  as  hard  as  ice. 
There  was  not  very  much  timber  in  the  canyon,  and  the 
cliffs  were  very  high.  Years  afterwards  very  rich  gold 
mines  were  found  in  this  place,  a  mining  camp  was  started, 
and  great  quartz  mills  were  built.1 

1  Virginia  City,  Montana. 


84 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


Lee  Moorhouse 
"  The  burden  bearer  " —  Squaw  carrying  wood. 

As  we  left  the  canyon,  we  climbed  a  very  steep  moun 
tain  for  about  two  miles,  and  then  went  down  through 
thick  timber  until  we  came  out  on  to  a  beautiful  prairie 
covered  with  the  finest  grass  I  had  ever,,  seen.  Off  to 
the  left  was  a  deep  canyon  where  one  fork  of  the  Big 
Hole  River  headed,  and  here  we  camped  for  a  long  time. 
The  Indians  killed  a  great  many  black-tailed  deer  and 
antelope  and  dried  the  meat.  I  think  Washakie  and  I 
killed  seventeen  while  we  stayed  here. 

Our  next  move  was  down  to  the  forks  of  the  river,  where 
we  stayed  three  or  four  weeks  to  give  the  women  time  to  tan 
the  deerskins.  It  was  fine  fishing  in  the  Big  Hole  River. 


The  Snowy  Moons  85 

While  we  were  staying  here,  one  of  the  War  Chief's 
boys  was  accidentally  shot  and  killed.  Oh,  what  crying 
we  had  to  do!  Every  one  in  camp  who  could  raise  a 
yelp  had  to  cry  for  about  five  days.  I  had  to  mingle  my 
gentle  voice  with  the  rest  of  the  mourners.  They  killed 
three  horses  and  buried  them  and  his  bow  and  arrows 
with  him.  The  horses  were  for  him  to  ride  to  the  Happy 
Hunting  Grounds.  When  they  got  ready  to  bury  him, 
every  one  in  camp  had  to  go  up  to  him  and  put  a  hand 
on  his  head  and  say  he  was  sorry  to  have  him  leave  us. 
When  it  came  my  turn,  I  went  into  our  tepee  and  would 
not  come  out.  Mother  came  after  me.  I  told  her  I 
would  not  go,  that  I  was  not  sorry  to  see  him  go,  for  he 
was  no  good  anyhow. 

"Don't  say  that  so  they  will  hear  it,"  °he  said.  Then 
she  went  back  and  made  excuses  for  me. 

They  took  him  up  to  a  high  cliff  and  put  him  in  a 
crevice  with  his  bedding,  a  frying  pan,  an  ax,  his  bow  and 
arrows,  and  some  dried  buffalo  meat.  After  this  they 
covered  him  with  rocks.  When  they  got  back  to  camp, 
they  let  out  the  most  pitiful  howls  I  ever  heard.  I  joined 
them  too,  just  as  loud  as  I  could  scream,  as  if  I  was  the 
most  broken-hearted  one  in  the  camp,  but  it  seemed  so 
foolish  to  keep  up  this  howling,  as  they  did  for  five  days. 
I  got  so  hoarse  I  could  hardly  talk. 

But  I  did  feel  sorry  for  his  poor  mother.  She  was 
really  grief-stricken.  She  cut  off  her  hair  close  to  her 
head.  I  asked  mother  why  she  did  that.  She  said  that 
all  mothers  did  it  when  their  oldest  boy  died.  After  our 
mourning  was  over,  she  would  still  weep  bitterly  and 
sometimes  scream  out  her  sorrow. 

We  next  moved  down  the  Big  Hole  River  to  where  the 
town  of  Melrose  is  now  situated.  We  stayed  here  for 
about  two  weeks,  then  went  on  till  we  came  to  where  the 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


The  Snowy  Moons  87 

Big  Hole  empties  into  the  Beaver  Head  River  and  forms 
the  Jefferson  River. 

Here  we  did  nothing  but  fish.  The  buffalo  were  not 
fat  enough  to  kill,  and  besides,  we  had  all  of  the  dried 
elk  and  deer  meat  we  wanted.  It  was  a  beautiful  place 
to  camp,  and  we  had  the  finest  of  grass  for  our  horses. 

I  broke  a  few  more  colts,  two  for  mother  and  four  for 
Washakie.  Our  horses  by  this  time  were  getting  fat  and 
looking  fine,  but  my  little  pinto  was  the  prettiest  one  of 
all.  Hardly  a  day  passed  but  some  Indian  would  try 
to  trade  me  out  of  him.  One  Indian  offered  me  two  good 
horses  if  I  would  swap,  but  I  thought  too  much  of  the 
pony  to  part  with  him  even  for  a  whole  band  of  horses. 
He  was  just  as  pretty  as  a  horse  could  be. 

Our  next  journey  took  us  a  long  way  northeast. 
Washakie  said  that  we  were  going  where  the  buffaloes 
were  too  many  to  count.  After  about  a  week  of  travel, 
we  reached  the  north  fork  of  the  Madison  River,  about 
on  a  line  with  the  Yellowstone  Park ;  and  oh,  the  kwaditsi 
(antelope)  and  padahia  (elk)  and  kotea  (buffalo)  there 
were !  Every  way  we  looked  we  could  see  herds  of  them. 

While  we  were  at  this  camp  another  boy  was  killed  by 
a  horse.  He  was  dragged  almost  to  pieces  through  the 
rocks  and  brush. 

When  I  heard  of  it,  I  told  mother  to  get  her  voice  ready 
for  another  big  howling. 

"Aren't  you  ashamed  to  talk  that  way  ?  "  asked  Hanabi. 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  a  hard-hearted  boy,"  said  mother. 

After  the  poor  fellow  was  buried,  we  went  up  the 
Madison  River  about  ninety  miles  and  camped  there  for 
a  month.  The  buffalo  were  now  in  better  condition,  so 
we  killed  a  good  many,  drying  their  meat  and  making 
their  hides  into  robes.  Then  we  went  on  south  and  came 
to  the  beautiful  lake  where  we  had  had  such  a  good  time 


88  The  White  Indian  Boy 

the  summer  before.  It  is  now  called  Henry's  Lake,  and 
is  the  head  of  the  north  fork  of  the  Snake  River.  We 
did  nothing  here  but  fish,  for  we  had  enough  dried  meat 
to  last  till  we  reached  the  usual  hunting  grounds. 


"  The  warriors  went  on  and  passed  .  .  .  out  of  our  sight." 

CHAPTER  TWELVE 

THE   FIERCE   BATTLE 

WE  were  now  traveling  towards  the  Crow  country.  I 
think  our  Indians  were  a  little  afraid  that  the  Crows 
were  going  to  try  to  stop  them ;  but  Washakie  said  that 
he  was  going  through  if  it  cost  him  half  of  his  tribe,  for 
he  was  not  going  to  be  bluffed  off  his  best  hunting  ground 
any  longer. 

I  thought  something  was  up,  because  small  bands  of 
Indians  kept  joining  us,  until  we  had  gathered  about 
seven  hundred  warriors.  We  sent  all  of  our  surplus 
horses  down  the  Snake  River  with  Indians  to  guard  them 
until  we  came  back.  Washakie  and  mother  kept  fifteen 
head  for  pack  horses,  and  I  kept  two  horses  to  ride. 
After  the  extra  horses  and  packs  had  gone,  we  started 
for  the  disputed  hunting  grounds. 

The  men  all  went  out  ahead,  followed  by  the  pack 
horses,  with  the  women  and  children  and  old  men  in  the 
rear.  Mother  warned  me  to  keep  close  to  her,  for  Wa 
shakie  said  that  the  Crows  might  tackle  us  that  day. 
I  said  that  kind  of  talk  was  too  thin.  But  we  had  not 

89 


90  The  White  Indian  Boy 

been  traveling  very  long  before  one  of  our  scouts  came 
tearing  back  and  said  that  he  had  seen  where  a  very  large 
band  of  Crows  had  passed,  and  had  sighted  smoke  in 
the  timber  ahead. 

The  men  all  stopped  and  bunched  together.  I  heard 
Washakie  tell  them  to  go  ahead,  to  keep  a  good  lookout, 
and  if  the  Crows  pounced  on  them,  to  fight  as  long  as 
there  was  a  man  left.  I  thought  that  they  must  be 
getting  brave. 

We  started  again  with  the  men  in  the  lead  as  before, 
but  riding  very  slowly.  Six  or  eight  Indians  kept  riding 
back  and  forth  along  our  line  to  keep  the  squaws  and 
pack  horses  from  getting  scattered. 

Pretty  soon  we  stopped  again  and  the  War  Chief 
ordered  us  to  camp  there  for  the  night.  "We  know  now," 
he  said,  "that  we  must  fight  or  go  back,  and  we  have 
gone  back  so  much  that  the  Crows  begin  to  think  we  are 
afraid  of  them.  I  feel  that  we  ought  to  give  them  a 
lesson  this  time  that  they  will  not  forget  soon." 

"That  is  the  way  I  look  at  it,"  said  Washakie.  "Now 
is  the  time  to  show  them  that  we  will  fight  for  our  rights." 

This  seemed  to  be  the  way  most  of  the  warriors  felt, 
for  I  heard  them  talking  about  it  in  their  council  that 
night. 

We  camped  right  there,  all  in  a  bunch,  with  hardly 
room  to  make  down  our  beds.  A  strong  guard  was  sent 
to  look  after  the  horses,  but  the  night  passed  off  without 
any  trouble.  When  morning  came,  ten  men  were  sent 
to  see  if  they  could  find  any  signs  of  the  Crows.  They 
were  gone  about  an  hour,  when  back  they  came  and 
reported  that  about  a  thousand  Crows  were  camped  over 
the  ridge  just  ahead  of  us. 

"We  will  go  on  to  our  hunting  grounds,"  said  the  War 
Chief,  "if  there  are  ten  thousand  of  them." 


The  Fierce  Battle  91 

The  Indians  painted  up  in  grand  style.  They  drew 
black  streaks  all  over  their  faces  to  make  themselves  look 
fiercer,  and  then  we  got  ready  and  started  forward.  We 
had  not  gone  far  when  the  squaws  were  ordered  to  stop. 
The  warriors  went  on  and  passed  over  a  small  ridge  out 
of  our  sight. 

Pretty  soon  we  heard  shooting,  then  an  Indian  came 
and  told  us  to  go  back  until  we  came  to  good  water  and 
stay  there  until  we  heard  from  the  chief.  "They  are 
fighting  now,"  he  said. 

We  had  hardly  reached  the  stream  of  water  before  we 
saw  Indians  come  up  on  the  hill  and  then  disappear, 
then  come  in  sight  again.  They  seemed  to  be  fighting 
fiercely,  and  they  were  yelling  to  beat  Old  Billy.  They 
had  not  been  fighting  over  an  hour  before  half  or  two 
thirds  of  them  were  on  top  of  the  hill  and  slowly  coming 
down  the  side  towards  us. 

The  squaws  began  to  cry  and  say  that  the  Crows  were 
getting  the  better  of  our  Indians  and  were  driving  them 


Dr.  T.  M.  Bridges 

A  Shoshone  brave  (Fort  Hall,  Idaho). 


92  The  White  Indian  Boy 

back.  They  kept  coming  closer  and  closer  to  us.  When 
I  looked  around  I  saw  that  the  squaws  were  getting  their 
butcher  knives ;  they  were  ready  to  fight  if  they  had  to. 
Then  I  noticed  that  our  men  were  not  coming  towards 
us  any  longer.  I  could  see  Washakie  on  his  big  buckskin 
horse  dashing  around  among  the  Indians  and  telling  them 
what  to  do,  ancj  very  soon  the  driving  turned  the  other 
way;  they  began  to  disappear  over  the  ridge  again,  and 
I  could  tell  that  our  Indians  were  beating  the  Crows. 

We  could  tell  the  Crow  Indians  from  ours,  for  they 
had  something  white  over  one  shoulder  and  under  one 
arm,  and  they  wore  white  feathers  in  their  hair.  There 
were  about  fifteen  hundred  Indians  engaged  in  the  fight 
on  both  sides,  as  the  battle  ground  covered  quite  a  piece 
of  country.  We  could  see  a  good  many  horses  running 
around  without  riders. 

I  believe  that  the  squaws  would  have  taken  part  in 
the  battle  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  guard  of  about  fifty 
old  Indians  that  kept  riding  around  us  all  the  time  to 
keep  the  squaws  and  papooses  and  horses  close  together. 

When  our  men  had  driven  the  Crows  back  to  the  ridge, 
they  seemed  to  stick  there;  but  they  were  still  fighting 
and  yelling  and  circling  around.  It  looked  as  if  they 
could  not  force  the  enemy  back  any  farther.  I  got  so 
excited  that  I  jumped  on  my  horse  and  said  to  another 
Indian  boy,  "Come  on,  let's  go  up  and  see  what  they  are 
doing  and  try  to  help  them." 

Mother  grabbed  my  bridle  and  said,  "You  crazy  little 
dunce ;  haven't  you  one  bit  of  sense?" 

"I  might  kill  a  whole  flock  of  Crows,"  I  said,  "for 
all  you  know."  But  she  would  not  let  me  go,  and  I 
guess  it  was  a  good  thing  I  did  not. 

After  about  six  hours  of  fighting,  one  Indian,  badly 
wounded,  came  in  and  told  us  to  go  back  to  the  lake,  but 


The  Fierce  Battle  93 

not  to  unpack  until  we  got  word  from  the  War  Chief. 
We  went  back  and  when  we  got  to  the  top  of  the  divide 
we  could  still  see  the  Indians  fighting,  although  they 
were  about  two  miles  away,  and  we  could  see  loose  horses 
all  over  the  prairie.  The  sun  was  nearly  an  hour  high 
when  we  reached  the  lake. 

About  dark  half  of  our  Indians  came  to  us  and  the  War 
Chief  told  us  to  unpack  and  put  up  the  tepees,  for 
very  likely  we  should  stay  there  for  a  while.  He  told  us 
that  about  sundown  the  Crows  broke  and  ran  and  that 
Washakie  with  the  other  half  of  our  Indians  was  follow 
ing  them  to  try  to  head  them  off  and  keep  them  from 
getting  away.  Washakie  thought  that  he  and  his  warriors 
could  stop  them  until  morning,  and  then  all  of  his  band 
could  attack  them  again.  The  War  Chief  sent  twenty 
Indians  with  one  hundred  fresh  horses  to  overtake  the 
Indians  that  were  following  the  Crows,  for  their  horses 
had  been  on  the  go  all  day  and  were  about  worn  out. 
He  said  that  he  had  seen  twenty-five  of  our  Indians  that 
were  dead.  How  many  more  had  been  killed  he  did  not 
know.  Mother  told  them  that  they  might  take  two  of 
her  horses  and  I  let  them  have  my  roan  pony  to  help 
them  in  their  chase  after  the  fleeing  Crows. 

By  this  time  three  or  four  hundred  squaws  and 
papooses  were  wailing  and  moaning  till  they  could  be 
heard  for  two  miles.  I  asked  mother  when  our  turn  would 
come. 

"Do  hush  and  go  to  sleep,"  said  Hanabi;  but  there 
was  not  much  sleep  that  night. 

When  day  came,  I  saw  such  a  sight  as  I  had  never  seen 
before.  About  one  hundred  Indians,  had  been  brought 
in  during  the  night,  all  very  badly  wounded.  Mother 
and  I  went  around  to  see  them.  One  poor  fellow  had  his 
nose  shot  off  and  one  eye  shot  out.  He  said  he  didn't 


94  The  White  Indian  Boy 


Indian  grave  among  the  rocks,  Utah  desert. 

feel  very  well.  Many  of  them  were  so  badly  hurt  that 
I  knew  they  could  not  live  until  sundown,  and  I  thought 
about  half  of  them  would  die  that  day.  A  few  old  Indians 
were  sent  over  to  the  battle  field  to  keep  the  eagles  and 
wolves  from  eating  the  Indians  that  had  been  killed. 
The  War  Chief  had  been  shot  in  the  arm  and  in  the  leg, 
but  was  not  very  badly  hurt.  He  had  gone  before  I  got 
up  that  morning  and  had  taken  with  him  all  of  the  war 
riors  that  were  able  to  go. 

That  night  a  little  after  dark  all  of  our  Indians  re 
turned.  Washakie  said  that  the  Crows  had  gone  into 
the  thick  timber  from  which  he  could  not  get  them  out, 
but  that  there  were  not  many  of  them  left  anyhow. 
Our  men  brought  in  a  very  large  band  of  Crows'  horses 
and  saddles  and  when  they  were  unpacked  I  never  before 
saw  such  a  pile  of  buffalo  robes,  blankets,  bows  and 


The  Fierce  Battle  95 

arrows,  and  guns.  The  next  morning  we  all  started  out 
for  the  battle  ground  to  bury  our  dead  and  oh,  what  a 
sight!  There  were  Indians  scattered  everywhere  all 
over  the  battle  field.  The  squaws  and  papooses  wailed 
pitifully  when  they  saw  their  dead  Indians  lying  around. 
Wives  were  hunting  for  their  husbands;  mothers  were 
looking  for  their  sons. 

I  went  about  picking  up  arrows.  I  had  gathered  quite 
a  few  when  mother  saw  me  with  them. 

"Throw  them  down  quick,"  she  said,  "the  old  Indians 
will  come  around  and  gather  them.  Don't  touch  any 
thing." 

"What  do  they  want  with  them?"  I  asked. 

"They  will  keep  them  for  another  fight,"  was  her 
answer. 

The  squaws  scalped  every  Crow  they  could  find. 

"Why  don't  you  scalp  our  Indians  and  send  their 
scalps  to  the  Crows  ?  "  I  asked  her. 

"Go  away,"  she  said,  "you  don't  know  what  you  are 
talking  about." 

Our  Indians  carried  our  dead  to  a  deep  washout  in  the 
side  of  the  hill,  put  them  in  and  covered  them  with  dirt 
and  rocks.  The  dead  Crows  were  left  to  the  wolves  and 
the  buzzards. 

That  night  when  I  got  back  to  camp  I  was  very  tired 
and  hungry,  and  I  had  seen  so  many  Indians  scalped  that 
I  felt  sick  and  wished  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  that 
I  was  home  with  my  kindred. 

About  two  hundred  and  fifty  horses  were  captured 
from  the  Crows.  Thirty-one  Indians  on  our  side  had 
been  killed  and  about  one  hundred  wounded.  Eighteen 
of  these  afterwards  died  from  their  wounds,  making 
forty-nine  in  all  we  lost  in  that  terrible  fight.  The  Crows 
had  suffered  far  worse  than  we  did.  The  men  sent  out 


96  The  White  Indian  Boy 

by  Washakie  to  count  the  killed  came  back  and  reported 
that  they  had  found  one  hundred  and  three  dead  Crows. 
Washakie  thought  this  number  would  be  increased  greatly 
by  those  that  died  from  their  wounds. 

I  began  to  change  my  mind  about  our  Indians  being 
cowards  after  seeing  that  fight.  I  have  seen  other  fights 
between  the  whites  and  the  Indians,  but  I  never  have 
seen  greater  bravery  displayed  than  was  shown  by  our 
Indians  in  this  fierce  battle  with  the  Crows. 

We  had  to  stay  in  this  place  about  three  weeks  to  give 
our  wounded  warriors  a  chance  to  get  well.  When  we 
could  move  them,  it  was  too  late  to  go  the  rounds  that 
Washakie  had  planned,  so  we  began  to  get  ready  for 
winter.  Our  camp  was  moved  over  on  the  Angatipa 
(Rock  Creek),  and  the  hunters  began  to  kill  buffaloes 
while  the  squaws  dried  the  meat.  There  were  a  good 
many  widows  and  orphans  now  to  take  care  of.  The 
worst  of  it  was  the  man  who  was  best  at  cutting  the  ham 
strings  had  been  killed  in  battle,  so  we  could  not  get 
on  so  fast  with  our  hunting.  However,  we  soon  got  all 
of  the  buffaloes  that  we  wanted  and  the  squaws  began  to 
make  the  hides  into  robes. 

Poor  old  mother  and  Hanabi  worked  very  hard  to  get 
ours  ready  for  the  journey  to  Salt  Lake.  Washakie  had 
a  good  many  robes.  Besides  those  he  had  got  from 
hunting,  he  had  bought  a  lot  from  other  Indians,  and  he 
had  his  chief's  share  of  those  captured  from  the  Crows. 
We  had  six  packs  of  dried  meat  and  our  camp  outfit 
made  three  more.  Altogether  it  made  so  heavy  a  load 
that  we  could  not  travel  very  fast. 

When  we  got  over  the  divide  Washakie  said  that  mother 
and  I  had  better  stay  there  with  some  of  the  others  to 
take  care  of  the  extra  horses.  I  did  not  like  to  do  this, 
for  I  wanted  to  go  to  Salt  Lake  this  time;  but  I  would 


The  Fierce  Battle 


97 


do  anything  that  Washakie  advised.     He  told  us  that 
we  could  come  on  slowly  after  them. 

When  they  started  for  Salt  Lake,  they  took  with  them 
about  thirty  head  of  the  Crows'  horses  to  swap  for  any 
thing  they  could  get  for  them.  After  they  were  gone, 
there  were  one  hundred  of  us  left  behind,  mostly  squaws 
and  papooses  and  old  and  wounded  Indians  to  take  care 
of,  besides  six  hundred  head  of  horses. 


Bur.  Am.  Ethnology,  Smithsonian  Institution 
Chief  Washakie  (center)  and  two  of  his  Shoshone  braves  (Wyoming). 


r.    N.  w  i  i.  9  o  M   - 

"  He  said  that  it  ...  would  have  to  be  cut  off." 

CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

LIVELY   TIMES 

AFTER  the  trading  party  had  been  gone  two  days,  the  rest 
of  our  band  moved  down  the  creek  to  where  it  sank  in 
the  sand  hills.  Here  three  of  the  wounded  Indians  got 
so  bad  that  we  had  to  stop  for  some  time ;  but  we  had 
the  finest  of  grass  for  our  horses,  and  the  sage  hens  were 
as  thick  as  could  be. 

One  day  I  was  out  shooting  chickens.  I  had  killed 
four  with  arrows  and  was  coming  home,  when,  as  I  was 
passing  a  tepee,  a  dog  jumped  out  and  got  me  by  the 
leg.  He  tore  off  quite  a  piece  of  my  flesh  and  I  shot  him 
through  with  an  arrow,  leaving  the  feathers  on  one  side 
of  him  and  the  spike  sticking  out  of  the  other.  As  I  was 
trying  to  catch  the  dog  to  get  my  arrow  back,  the  old 
squaw  that  owned  him  ran  up  with  a  rope.  She  threw 
it  over  my  head  and  jerked  me  along  to  her  tepee. 
And  there  she  held  me  while  her  girl  tied  my  feet  and 
hands.  Then  the  angry  old  squaw  grabbed  a  butcher 
knife  and  was  going  to  cut  my  head  off. 

A  sick  Indian,  who  happened  to  be  lying  near  by, 

98 


Lively  Times  99 

jumped  up  and  held  the  squaw  while  a  little  boy  ran 
and  told  mother.  Mother  came  in  double  quick  time. 
She  grabbed  the  knife  from  the  squaw,  cut  the  strap 
that  she  had  tied  me  with,  took  me  by  the  arm,  and  made 
me  hike  for  my  tepee.  When  she  saw  how  the  dog  had 
bitten  me,  oh,  she  was  mad.  She  went  back  to  the  squaw, 
with  me  following  her,  and  said:  "If  you  don't  kill  that 
dog  before  sundown,  I  will  kill  you.  Look  here,  see  this 
poor  boy  with  his  leg  nearly  bitten  off." 

The  old  Indians  that  had  gathered  around  stopped 
the  fracas,  or  I  guess  there  would  have  been  another 
camp  fight. 

Mother  went  for  the  medicine  man.  When  he  came 
he  said  that  it  was  a  very  bad  bite,  and  that  we  must  be 
very  careful  or  blood  poison  would  set  in.  He  said  that 
the  dog  would  have  to  be  killed.  I  told  him  that  I  thought 
the  dog  would  die  if  they  let  him  alone. 

"But  he  must  be  killed  before  he  dies,"  said  the  medi 
cine  man. 

This  made  me  laugh. 

The  cut  in  my  leg  was  "V"  shaped,  and  the  piece  of 
flesh  hung  only  by  the  skin. 

"Ouch !"  I  cried,  when  he  tried  to  put  it  back  in  place. 

"What  did  you  say?"  he  asked. 

"Ouch!" 

"What  is  that?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Oh,"  he  said,  going  on  with  his  work  of  patching  up 
my  leg.  He  put  the  piece  back  where  it  belonged  and 
tied  it  there  with  a  piece  of  something ;  then  he  got  some 
weeds,  mashed  them  up  and  made  a  poultice  and  put  it 
on  the  wound. 

After  this  he  went  to  have  the  dog  killed.  I  told  him 
to  hurry  up  or  the  dog  would  be  dead  before  he  got  there. 


100  The  White  Indian  Boy 

When  the  medicine  man  told  any  one  to  do  anything, 
he  had  to  do  it.  He  sent  a  big  boy  to  kill  the  dog,  but 
when  the  boy  got  to  the  tepee,  the  old  squaw  and  her 
girl  pitched  on  to  him  and  beat  the  poor  fellow  nearly  to 
death.  Then  the  medicine  man  sent  two  big  Indians 
to  see  what  they  could  do.  When  they  reached  the  place, 
I  could  hear  very  loud  talking,  so  I  got  up  and  went  to 
the  door  to  see  the  fun.  One  Indian  had  hold  of  the  old 
squaw;  the  other  had  the  girl  and  they  were  shaking 
them  to  beat  time.  I  was  glad  of  it.  They  deserved  a 
good  shaking. 

Well,  they  killed  the  dog  before  he  died,  anyway. 

When  the  camp  had  quieted  down  again,  the  medicine 
man  came  and  changed  the  poultice  on  my  leg.  It  had 
swollen  very  badly  by  this  time.  He  told  mother  to 
boil  sage  leaves  and  with  the  tea  to  bathe  my  leg  very 
often.  I  could  hear  mother  crying  while  she  was  out 
gathering  the  sage,  and  when  she  came  in  I  asked  her 
what  she  was  crying  about.  She  said  she  was  afraid 
that  I  should  be  lame  all  my  life  from  the  hurt.  I  told 
her  that  I  should  be  well  in  a  week,  that  a  little  thing  like 
that  would  not  make  me  lame  very  long;  but  my  leg 
pained  me  so  that  I  did  not  get  much  sleep  that  night. 

The  next  morning  the  squaw  and  her  girl  and  their 
tepee  were  gone,  but  the  sick  Indian  was  left  lying  there 
alone  in  his  bed.  I  told  mother  to  let  him  come  into  our 
tepee  and  stay  until  his  squaw  got  back.  She  had 
gone  with  Washakie  to  sell  her  robes  and  skins,  and  had 
left  her  sister-in-law  to  take  care  of  her  wounded  hus 
band  until  she  returned.  Mother  objected  to  taking 
care  of  him,  but  when  I  told  her  he  had  saved  my  life  by 
keeping  that  old  squaw  from  cutting  my  head  off,  she 
consented  and  asked  him  to  come  over  to  our  tepee. 

The  poor  old  fellow  was  very  sick  and  so  weak  he  could 


Lively  Times  101 

hardly  walk.  He  had  been  shot  three  times  with  arrows 
—  in  the  arm,  in  the  leg,  and  in  his  side.  The  wound  in 
his  side  was  so  bad  that  the  medicine  man  had  to  take 
out  part  of  his  two  ribs.  It  kept  the  medicine  man  busy 
tending  to  me  and  all  of  the  wounded  Indians. 

Mother  bathed  my  sore  leg  three  times  a  day  with 
sage  tea;  the  swelling  all  went  away,  and  I  was  getting 
along  fine.  In  about  a  week  I  had  mother  get  me  some 
sticks  and  I  made  some  crutches ;  then  I  could  get  around 
out  of  doors.  When  the  other  lame  Indians  saw  how 
well  I  could  move  about,  they  had  me  make  them  crutches 
also,  so  that  they  could  move  about. 

After  staying  here  nearly  two  weeks,  we  had  to  move, 
for  the  wood  was  getting  scarce  close  to  camp.  I  hobbled 
around  and  helped  mother  pack  up ;  then  we  went  over 
through  the  sand  hills  and  came  to  a  good-sized  stream 
which  they  called  Tonobipa.  The  stream  ran  south 
through  the  sand  hills  and  lava  beds,  and  farther  down  it 
sank  out  of  sight  into  the  ground. 

The  sick  Indians  had  a  hard  time  while  we  were  on 
the  move,  but  I  stood  the  trip  very  well.  After  staying 
in  our  new  camp  for  four  days,  we  packed  up  again  and 
started  for  the  place  where  we  were  to  meet  Washakie. 
That  was  five  days'  travel  away.  We  could  not  travel 
very  fast  on  account  of  the  sick  Indians  and  we  could 
not  get  a  very  early  start  because  of  having  so  many 
horses  to  pack,  so  it  seemed  a  very  long  journey. 

One  day  we  had  to  make  a  twenty-five-mile  ride  to 
reach  water.  That  day  was  too  hard  on  our  sick.  We 
were  obliged  to  leave  two  of  them  in  the  sand  hills,  while 
we  pushed  on  to  the  Piupa.  One  old  Indian  carried  water 
back  to  them.  It  was  way  after  dark  when  we  got  to 
the  river.  Oh,  how  tired  I  was,  and  how  my  leg  did  hurt 
before  that  day's  travel  was  over.  I  was  glad  to  get  a 


102  The  White  Indian  Boy 

good  drink  of  water  and  to  lie  down  to  rest.  My  leg 
hurt  so  much  that  mother  would  not  let  me  do  a  thing. 
She  unpacked  all  the  horses  and  put  up  the  tepee 
alone. 

The  medicine  man  came  to  take  care  of  my  leg.  When 
he  unwrapped  it  to  put  on  another  poultice,  he  found 
that  it  had  turned  black.  He  said  that  it  had  begun  to 
mortify  and  would  have  to  be  cut  off.  Then  mother 
began  to  cry  so  hard  that  the  whole  camp  heard  her,  and 
several  Indians  came  up  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 
She  told  them  that  her  poor  boy  must  lose  his  leg. 

"Not  by  a  blame  sight!"  Isaid.  Then  I  told  the  old 
medicine  man  to  pike  away  to  his  tepee  and  not  to 
come  back  any  more.  Mother  cried  harder  and  begged 
him  not  to  go.  She  said  that  I  was  out  of  my  head  and 
did  not  know  what  I  was  saying. 

"Yes,  he  does,"  said  the  old  rascal,  "and  I  do  not  care 
if  the  little  white  devil  does  die." 

"I  know  you  don't,"  I  replied ;  "if  you  did,  you  would 
not  want  to  cut  my  leg  off.  I  know  very  well  what  I  am 
saying,"  I  told  him;  "now  you  get,  and  mighty  quick, 
too,  or  when  Washakie  comes  I'll  have  him  cut  both  your 
legs  off." 

Away  he  went  as  mad  as  fire.  When  he  had  gone 
mother  said,  "Now  you  have  run  the  medicine  man  off, 
you  will  die." 

"Not  half  so  quick  as  I  would  if  he  kept  putting  his 
poisoned  poultices  on  my  leg,"  I  said.  "I  should  have 
been  well  long  ago  if  he  had  left  me  alone.  He  has  been 
trying  to  kill  me  ever  since  he  began  to  doctor  me.  I  am 
not  going  to  let  him  do  anything  for  me  any  more." 

Mother  gathered  more  sage  and  bathed  my  leg.  The 
poor  old  woman  worked  with  me  nearly  all  night,  and  the 
next  morning  my  leg  was  better,  but  I  could  not  move  it 


Lively  Times 


103 


American  Museum  of  Natural  History 

The  sage  hen  or  sage  grouse,  a  beautiful  Western  bird  that  should  be 

saved. 

without  a  great  deal  of  pain.  Mother  said  that  we  should 
not  leave  that  place  until  I  got  well  even  if  it  took  all 
winter.  The  next  morning,  when  mother  got  up  she 
said  she  dreamed  that  Washakie  came  and  killed  a  sage 
hen  and  put  the  entrails  on  my  leg  and  it  cured  it  right 
away.  I  told  her  to  keep  right  on  with  sage  tea,  and  I 
thought  it  would  be  all  right  soon. 

After  we  had  been  here  a  few  days,  some  of  the  Indians 
wanted  to  go  on  to  the  place  where  we  were  to  meet 
Washakie;  but  mother  said  she  would  not  move  until 
I  got  better,  so  five  tepees  stayed  with  us  and  the  rest 
went  on.  Washakie  and  his  party  were  at  the  rendezvous 
waiting  for  them.  When  they  told  him  how  I  was,  he 
started  out,  and  in  two  days  he  reached  our  camp. 

The  chief  was  very  angry  when  he  saw  my  leg  and  was 


104  The  White  Indian  Boy 

told  how  I  had  been  treated.  It  was  bad  enough,  he 
said,  to  be  bitten  by  a  dog  without  having  the  squaw 
threaten  to  kill  me.  He  said  that  she  would  have  to 
leave  the  tribe.  When  I  told  him  how  the  old  medicine 
man  had  acted,  he  was  angrier  still. 

The  chief  had  left  his  things  in  bad  shape ;  he  wanted 
to  go  back  as  soon  as  I  could  be  moved.  I  told  him  I 
thought  I  could  travel,  so  the  next  morning  we  packed 
up  for  the  start ;  but  as  I  went  to  get  on  my  horse  it  hurt 
my  leg  so  much  that  I  began  to  cry. 

"Hold  on,"  said  Washakie,  "I  will  fix  things  so  you  can 
ride  better."  Then  he  and  some  more  Indians  tied  some 
tepee  poles  on  each  side  of  two  horses  and  wove  some 
rope  between  the  poles,  making  a  kind  of  litter.  Several 
buffalo  robes  were  thrown  on  the  rope  net  and  this  made 
a  fine  bed.  Mother  led  the  front  horse  and  away  we  went 
in  first-class  style.  After  we  got  going,  Washakie  came 
up  and  asked  me  whether  they  were  traveling  too  fast. 

"No,"  I  said,  "you  can  run  if  you  want  to." 

He  laughed  and  said  that  I  was  all  right. 

That  day  mother  got  some  boys  to  shoot  some  sage 
hens  for  her.  They  killed  three  and  when  we  camped 
she  put  the  entrails  on  my  sore  leg.  I  slept  well  that 
night.  It  was  the  first  good  sleep  I  had  had  for  more 
than  a  week.  As  we  traveled  along,  mother  took  good 
care  of  my  leg  in  this  way  and  by  the  time  we  got  to  the 
main  camp  I  could  walk  again  on  my  crutches. 

The  next  morning  after  we  arrived  here,  Washakie 
told  the  War  Chief  to  send  down  the  river  for  the  best 
medicine  man  in  the  tribe.  I  told  Washakie  that  I  would 
not  let  any  more  of  his  medicine  men  fool  with  my  leg. 
He  said  that  he  only  wanted  him  to  see  it.  That  day  the 
good  medicine  man  came,  and  when  he  saw  my  leg,  he 
shook  his  head  and  said  that  it  was  a  wonder  I  was  alive,  for 


Lively  Times  105 

the  old  medicine  man  had  been  putting  poison  weeds  on  it, 
and  if  he  had  kept  it  up  two  days  longer  I  would  have 
been  dead. 

Washakie  sent  for  the  old  medicine  man.  When  he 
came  the  chief  asked  him,  "What  have  you  been  doing 
with  this  boy?" 

He  said  that  he  had  been  doing  ah1  he  could  for  me. 

"I  don't  want  any  more  of  your  lies,"  said  Washakie. 
"If  this  boy  had  died,  I  would  have  had  you  tied  to  the 
tail  of  a  wild  horse  and  let  him  kick  and  drag  you  to  death. 
Now,  go,  and  don't  let  me  see  you  any  more,  for  you  are 
hated  by  every  Indian,  squaw,  and  papoose  in  this  camp." 

We  stayed  in  this  place  till  my  leg  got  nearly  well, 
then  we  moved  on  down  the  river  to  stop  for  the  winter. 
Here  the  fishing  was  good,  and  the  white-tailed  deer, 
ducks,  and  rabbits  were  very  plentiful. 


"  I  used  to  like  to  watch  him  make  arrows." 

CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

OLD    MOROGONAI 

DURING  the  time  that  I  was  disabled  and  had  to  stay  in  the 
tepee,  my  old  friend,  Morogonai,  would  come  and  talk 
to  me  for  hours.  He  told  me  all  about  the  first  white  men 
he  ever  saw.  It  was  Lewis  and  Clark.  When  they  made 
their  trip  across  the  continent,  this  old  Indian  had  sold 
them  some  horses,  and  had  traveled  with  them  for  about 
ten  days,  catching  fish  and  trading  them  to  the  whites 
for  shirts  and  other  articles. 

Old  Morogonai  was  respected  by  all  the  tribe.  He 
had  once  been  a  chief  among  the  Shoshones,  but  now 
that  he  was  too  old  to  lead  the  Indians,  he  became  an 
arrow-maker  for  them. 

I  used  to  like  to  watch  him  make  arrows.  It  takes 
skill  to  make  a  good  one.  Our  Indians  generally  used  the 
limbs  of  service-berry  bushes  for  this  purpose.  They 
would  cut  a  great  many  of  these  and  leave  them  for  a 
year  to  dry  thoroughly.  Old  Morogonai  would  take  a 
bundle  of  these  seasoned  limbs  and  draw  each  one  through 
a  hole  in  an  antelope  horn  to  make  it  perfectly  straight. 

106 


Old  Morogonai  107 

Then  he  would  crease  each  shaft,  and  after  this  he  would 
feather  them  and  put  on  the  steel  spikes.  In  earlier  times 
they  used  flint  heads,  which  they  had  chipped  into  shape. 
If  the  arrow  was  for  long-distance  shooting,  the  feathers 
were  made  heavier  than  the  spike ;  if  for  short  distances, 
the  spike  was  made  heavier  so  that  it  would  bring  the 
arrow  down  more  quickly. 

The  bows  were  sometimes  made  of  mountain  sheep 
horns,  which  were  thrown  into  some  hot  spring  and  left 
there  until  they  were  pliable.  Then  they  were  shaped, 
and  a  strip  of  sinew  was  stuck  on  the  back  with  some 
kind  of  balsam  gum  that  was  about  as  good  as  glue.  This 
made  a  powerful  bow.  Not  many  Indians  had  this  kind ; 
most  of  our  Indians  used  bows  made  from  white  cedar 
strung  with  sinew  along  the  back. 

For  other  weapons,  the  Indians  had  spears  made  of 
small  pine-tree  shafts  about  twelve  feet  long  and  a  steel 
spike  about  four  inches  in  length.  When  they  were  not 
using  their  spears,  they  would  take  the  spike  off  the  shaft, 
sharpen  it,  and  keep  it  in  a  little  buckskin  scabbard.  They 
traded  with  the  whites  for  knives  and  tomahawks  and 
guns. 

Old  Morogonai  told  me  many  things  about  his  experi 
ences  with  the  white  man.  He  was  not  unfriendly 
towards  them,  but  he  felt  that  they  had  often  mistreated 
the  Indians,  and  caused  a  good  deal  of  unnecessary  suffer 
ing  and  trouble  for  both  the  red  men  and  the  whites. 

"At  one  time,"  he  said,  "an  emigrant  train,  on  its  way 
to  Oregon,  camped  at  Humboldt  Springs.  Some  of 
Pocatello's  Indians  went  to  the  camp  to  swap  buckskins 
for  flour.  The  white  men  took  three  of  their  squaws  and 
drove  the  rest  of  the  Indians  away.  That  made  the 
Indians  mad.  They  gathered  a  large  band  of  Indians, 
followed  the  train,  and  killed  every  one  of  the  white  men 


108  The  White  Indian  Boy 

in  it.    Then  they  took  all  their  stock  and  clothing  and 
food  and  weapons,  and  afterwards  set  fire  to  the  wagons." 

"At  another  time,"  he  said,  "some  mail  carriers  drove 
a  band  of  fine  big  horses  up  to  my  camp  of  Indians  and 
asked  me  to  take  care  of  the  animals  for  them  for  two 
moons,  then  they  would  come  and  give  us  fifteen  red 
blankets.  They  had  stolen  the  horses  from  an  emigrant 
train.  We  did  not  know  this,  however,  so  we  agreed  to 
take  care  of  the  animals  for  them. 

"In  a  few  days  the  emigrants  found  the  tracks  of 
their  horses  around  our  camp  and  thinking  we  had,  stolen 
them,  they  began  to  shoot  before  they  gave  my  Indians 
a  chance  to  explain.  After  shooting  seven  of  my  braves, 
they  rode  off,  driving  with  them  not  only  their  own  horses 
but  some  of  ours. 

"  I  was  away  at  the  time  with  most  of  my  men.  When 
I  returned,  I  found  my  oldest  boy  and  five  other  Indians 
dead  and  another  dying.  I  gathered  what  was  left  of 
my  band  and  that  night  we  set  out  in  hot  pursuit  of  the 
whites;  but  it  was  eight  days  before  I  got  a  chance  to 
get  even.  There  were  a  good  many  men  in  the  camp  and 
they  kept  a  strong  guard  at  night.  On  the  eighth  night 
it  grew  very  stormy,  we  skipped  in  through  the  darkness, 
stampeded  their  horses,  and  got  away  with  twenty-two 
of  them.  The  whites  followed  us,  and  they  would  have 
overtaken  us,  if  we  had  not  run  into  a  large  camp  of  Poca- 
tello's  Indians.  We  did  not  stop,  but  kept  right  on  going. 

"When  the  emigrants  came  up  to  Pocatello's  band, 
they  pitched  into  these  Indians  without  waiting  for 
explanations.  A  big  fight  followed  and  men  were  killed 
on  both  sides,  but  the  Indians  finally  got  the  worst  of  it. 
The  best  of  it  was  that  we  got  away  with  the  horses. 

"After  we  got  back  to  the  main  tribe,  Washakie  hap 
pened  to  hear  about  the  trouble  and  he  sent  for  me.  I 


Old  Morogonai 


109 


Dr.  T.  M.  BrUges 

"  Old  Ocean  "  (at  right),  one  of  the  Lewis  and  Clark  Shoshone  guides. 
This  picture  was  taken  about  1885,  when  the  noted  Indian  guide  was 
more  than  one  hundred  years  old. 

told  him  the  full  story.  He  said  that  he  did  not  blame 
me;  but  it  was  a  bad  scrape  and  he  did  not  want  any 
trouble  with  the  whites. 

"He  advised  me  to  keep  away  from  the  road  where  the 
white  men  travel,  and  have  nothing  to  do  with  them; 
'for,'  said  he,  'they  have  crooked  tongues ;  no  one  can  be 
lieve  what  they  have  to  say.' " 

"We  did  not  know,"  said  the  old  arrow-maker,  "what 
whooping  cough,  measles,  and  smallpox  were  until  the 
whites  brought  these  diseases  among  us.  A  train  of  emi- 


110 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


grants  once  camped  near  us ;  some  of  their  white  papooses 
had  the  whooping  cough;  our  papooses  caught  it  from 
them.  Our  medicine  man  tried  to  cure  it  as  he  would  a 
bad  cold,  and  more  than  half  of  our  papooses  died  from 
the  disease  and  the  treatment.  Hundreds  of  our  people 
have  been  killed  with  the  smallpox  brought  to  us  by  the 
white  man. 

"The  white  men  keep  crowding  the  Indians  that  are 
east  of  here  out  west,  and  they  keep  crowding  us  farther 
west.  Very  soon  they  will  have  us  away  out  in  Nevada 
where  there  is  nothing  but  lizards  and  snakes  and  horned 
toads  to  live  on.  If  they  crowd  us  farther  than  that,  we 
shall  have  to  jump  off  into  the  Great  Water." 

When  Old  Morogonai  was  telling  me  these  and  other 
tales  about  the  cruel  wrongs  the  Indians  have  suffered 
from  the  whites,  I  was  not  prepared  to  sympathize  with 
him  as  I  can  now.  But  I  have  seen  so  much  since  on  both 
sides  that  I  am  sure  he  told  me  the  truth.  Most  of  the 


Bur.  Am.  Ethnology,  Smithsonian  Institution 
Family  of  Bannock  Indians  of  Pocatello's  tribe,  about  I860- 


Old  Morogonai 


111 


Shoshone  and  Bannock  Indian  relics  collected  by  Dr.  T.  M.  Bridges. 

trouble  between  the  whites  and  the  Indians  has  been 
caused  by  the  white  men,  who  had  not  white  hearts; 
they  did  not  treat  the  Indian  fairly. 

I  know  that  the  Indians  were  a  treacherous  and  revenge 
ful  people.  They  always  demanded  a  life  to  pay  for  a 
life,  and  they  would  often  do  bloodthirsty  things.  But 
the  whites  were  mostly  to  blame.  If  they  had  been  fair 
with  the  Indians,  and  treated  them  kindly,  instead  of 
taking  mean  advantages  of  them,  the  Indians  would  have 
been  kind  and  friendly.  I  cannot  blame  the  Indians  as 
much  as  some  do.  They  were  good  friends  to  me,  and  most 
of  them  have  peaceful  hearts. 


"  The  War  Chief  asked  me  some  more  questions." 

CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

THE   BIG   COUNCIL 

OUR  winter  camp  was  a  very  beautiful  place  with  plenty 
of  game  and  an  abundance  of  good  dry  wood.  We  had 
nearly  everything  that  was  needed  to  make  us  happy. 
My  leg  and  all  of  the  sick  Indians  got  well,  and  we  were  get 
ting  along  finely  when  one  day  some  of  Pocatello's  Indians 
came  to  our  camp. 

That  night  Washakie  called  a  council  of  the  tribe  to 
meet  in  the  War  Chief's  tepee.  I  thought  this  strange, 
for  he  had  always  held  his  councils  in  our  tepee.  The 
next  morning  they  held  another  council,  so  I  thought  I 
would  go  over  and  see  what  it  was  all  about.  But  when 
I  got  to  the  door  of  the  council  tepee,  I  met  an  Indian 
who  told  me  to  run  back,  that  they  did  not  want  me  in 
there.  This  puzzled  me,  for  I  had  never  before  been 
sent  away  from  the  councils. 

When  I  got  back  to  our  tepee,  mother  and  Hanabi 
were  both  crying.  I  knew  then  that  something  serious 
was  up,  but  they  would  not  tell  me  a  word  about  it. 

112 


The  Big  Council  113 

I  thought  that  Pocatello's  Indians  wanted  Washakie  to 
help  them  in  some  bloody  affair  with  the  whites. 

Things  went  on  in  this  way  for  four  days.  The  Indians 
kept  on  holding  councils,  but  I  could  not  learn  what  was 
the  cause.  I  saw  other  squaws  come  to  our  tepee,  but 
when  I  came  near  them,  they  would  stop  talking.  This 
made  me  think  that  the  trouble  had  something  to  do  with 
me,  and  I  worried  a  good  deal  about  it. 

On  the  fifth  morning  Washakie  sent  for  me.  I  went 
and  found  about  fifteen  Indians  at  the  council.  The  War 
Chief  first  asked  me  how  old  I  was. 

"About  fourteen  years,"  I  answered. 

"  How  old  were  you  when  you  left  home  ?  "  he  went  on. 

"Nearly  twelve." 

"Were  you  stolen  away  or  did  you  come  to  us  of  your 
own  accord?"  was  his  next  question. 

I  told  him  that  I  ran  away ;  nobody  forced  me  to  come ; 
but  two  Indians  coaxed  me  and  gave  me  my  pinto  pony. 

He  then  told  me  that  I  might  go.  When  I  got  back  to 
our  tepee  mother  and  Hanabi  wanted  to  know  what 
had  happened,  and  I  told  them. 

That  night  the  council  was  continued  in  Washakie's 
tepee.  The  War  Chief  asked  me  some  more  questions. 
He  wanted  to  know  how  the  Indians  treated  me,  and  why 
I  ran  away  from  home. 

I  told  him  that  I  had  been  treated  just  as  well  by  the 
Indians  as  I  had  ever  been  treated  by  the  whites,  and  that 
I  ran  away  because  I  was  tired  of  herding  sheep  alone. 
Besides,  I  wanted  the  pinto  pony  and  the  only  way  I  could 
get  him  was  to  go  with  the  Indians,  so  I  went. 

"Have  the  Indians  kept  their  promises  with  you?" 
the  War  Chief  asked. 

"They  have  done  everything  they  said  they  would 
do,"  I  told  him  ;  "I  haven't  any  fault  to  find  with  them." 


114 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


The  Big  Council  115 

Washakie  then  said  that  he  had  told  the  Indians  they 
might  offer  me  the  pony  if  I  would  come  ;  but  they  were 
not  to  force  me  away  from  home.  "So  when  he  came," 
the  chief  continued,  "we  gave  the  squaw  who  owned  the 
pinto  four  colts  for  him.  I  gave  her  a  yearling,  mother 
gave  two  others,  and  Morogonai  gave  one.  We  never 
told  the  boy  that  he  could  have  the  pony;  but  we  all 
understood  that  it  belonged  to  him.  Afterwards  I  gave 
him  another  horse  for  breaking  some  colts  for  me." 

The  War  Chief  asked  me  whether  I  would  rather  live 
with  the  white  people  or  the  Indians.  I  told  him  I  would 
sooner  live  with  the  Indians.  With  that  the  council 
broke  up  and  the  Indians  went  to  their  various  tepees. 

"What  does  all  this  mean?"  I  asked  Washakie. 

"You  will  know  in  the  morning,"  he  replied. 

"If  they  intend  to  take  my  pony  away,"  I  said,  "I  will 
skip  out  in  the  night." 

"They  are  not  going  to  do  that,"  said  my  mother; 
"whenever  you  go,  that  horse  goes  with  you." 

We  all  went  to  bed  that  night  wondering  what  would 
happen  next  day.  It  was  a  long  night  for  me,  for  I  did 
not  sleep  much. 

Morning  came  at  last,  and  after  breakfast  the  War 
Chief  with  several  other  Indians  came  to  our  tepee. 
With  them  were  the  Pocatello  Indians.  When  they  were 
all  inside  the  tepee,  Washakie  told  me  that  these  In 
dians  had  been  down  to  the  place  where  my  people  lived ; 
that  my  father  said  I  had  been  stolen  by  the  Indians; 
that  he  was  raising  a  big  army  to  come  and  get  me ;  and 
that  he  was  going  to  kill  every  Indian  he  could  find. 
Washakie  asked  me  what  I  thought  about  it.  I  told  him 
that  it  was  not  so. 

"In  the  first  place,"  I  said,  "my  people  do  not  want  to 
fight  the  Indians ;  and  besides,  if  my  father  had  been  com- 


116  The  White  Indian  Boy 

ing  after  me  he  would  have  come  long  before  this.  I 
don't  believe  one  word  of  it." 

Washakie  was  of  the  same  opinion  as  I  was. 

Then  one  of  Pocatello's  Indians  said  he  had  just  come 
from  Salt  Lake  City  and  many  people  there  had  asked 
him  whether  he  knew  anything  about  the  boy  that  had 
been  stolen  from  the  whites.  He  said  that  all  through  the 
white  men's  towns  they  were  getting  ready  to  fight,  and 
he  knew  that  they  were  coming  to  get  me. 

"I  know  they  are  not,"  I  said,  "for  I  have  heard  my 
father  say  many  times  that  if  any  of  his  boys  ran  away  he 
should  never  come  home  again ;  besides,  my  father  has 
an  old  Gosiute  Indian  living  with  him  who  knows  all 
about  my  running  away." 

Washakie  said  that  it  did  not  look  reasonable  to  him  that 
they  would  wait  so  long  and  then  come  to  hunt  the 
boy,  especially  at  that  time  of  the  year. 

This  made  the  Pocatello  Indians  angry.  "All  right," 
they  said;  "believe  that  white  boy  if  you  would  rather 
than  believe  us ;  but  if  you  get  into  a  fight  with  the  white 
men,  you  need  not  ask  us  to  help  you." 

Washakie  said  that  he  was  not  going  to  have  any 
trouble  with  the  whites  if  he  could  avoid  it. 

"No,"  they  said,  "you  are  too  big  a  coward  to  fight 
anything";  and  off  they  strutted  as  mad  as  hornets. 
As  they  went  out  they  said  to  one  of  our  Indians  that 
they  would  like  to  get  that  little  white  devil  out  in  the 
brush  and  they  would  soon  have  another  white,  curly- 
headed  scalp  to  dance  around. 

When  the  council  met  again  that  night,  they  did  not 
have  much  to  say ;  they  all  appeared  to  be  in  a  deep  study. 
After  a  little  while  Washakie  said  he  thought  it  would  be 
a  good  thing  to  send  some  of  our  Indians  to  the  white 
settlements  to  find  out  what  was  going  on. 


The  Big  Council  117 

"That  is  the  best  thing  to  do,"  said  old  Morogonai; 
"but  who  will  go?" 

"It  will  not  be  hard  to  get  men  enough  to  go,"  said 
Washakie. 

The  War  Chief  said  it  would  be  better  for  the  white 
boy  to  go  himself  and  end  all  the  trouble ;  for  if  his  folks 
were  coming  after  him,  that  would  stop  them  and  settle 
the  dispute.  Nearly  all  of  the  council  agreed  with  the 
War  Chief. 

Washakie  asked  me  what  I  thought  about  it.  I  told 
him  that  I  did  not  know  the  way  home  and  I  would  not  go. 

"If  the  council  decides  that  it  is  the  wisest  plan  for  you 
to  go,"  said  the  chief,  "we  will  find  a  way  for  you  to  get 
home  safe."  He  then  asked  each  member  of  the  council 
what  he  thought  about  it,  and  all  were  of  the  opinion  that 
it  was  the  best  thing  to  do. 

Mother  talked  and  cried  a  great  deal.  I  do  not  remem 
ber  all  she  said,  but  I  know  that  she  begged  them  to  send 
some  one  else.  Washakie  was  silent  for  a  long  time,  then 
he  said  that  I  had  better  go ;  that  he  would  send  two  of 
his  men  with  me  to  the  nearest  white  town  and  then  I  could 
get  home  myself. 

"I  want  you  to  go  home,"  he  said,  "and  when  you  get 
there,  tell  the  truth.  Tell  your  father  that  you  came  to 
us  of  your  own  accord ;  and  then  if  you  want  to  come 
back,  we  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  come  and  live  with  us 
always." 

"All  right,"  I  said,  "I  will  go  home  if  you  want  me  to, 
but  I  will  not  stay  there." 

How  mother  did  take  on !  It  seemed  as  if  it  would 
break  her  poor  old  heart,  and  Hanabi  took  it  very  hard, 
too.  I  told  them  not  to  feel  bad,  for  I  would  soon  come 
back. 

In  a  few  days,  I  was  to  leave,  so  we  began  to  get  ready 


118  The  White  Indian  Boy 

for  the  journey.  Hanabi  and  some  other  squaws  set  to 
work  to  make  my  clothes,  and  they  soon  had  enough  to 
dress  me  in  first-class  Indian  style.  The  Indians  gave  me 
so  many  buffalo  robes  and  buckskins  that  one  horse  could 
not  carry  them ;  so  Washakie  said  that  I  might  have  one 
of  the  horses  they  had  captured  from  the  Crows. 

When  the  two  Indians  that  were  to  go  with  me  said 
they  were  ready,  we  packed  up.  I  had  in  my  pack  seven 
buffalo  robes,  fifteen  large  buckskins,  and  ten  pairs  of  very 
fine  moccasins.  It  was  a  bulky  load,  but  not  very  heavy. 
Just  as  I  was  leaving,  the  little  boys  gave  me  so  many 
arrows  that  I  could  not  get  them  all  in  my  quiver.  * 


"  She  knew  me  the  moment  she  saw  me." 

CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

HOMEWARD   BOUND 

WHEN  we  started  to  leave  the  village,  how  my  mother 
did  cry !  I  tried  to  comfort  her  by  telling  her  not  to  feel 
bad,  for  I  should  soon  be  back.  Little  did  I  think  it  would 
be  the  last  time  I  should  see  her,  for  I  fully  intended  to 
return  that  fall. 

We  took  plenty  of  dried  meat  with  us  to  last  us  through 
the  trip,  and  away  we  went.  On  the  fourth  day,  at  noon, 
we  came  to  a  place  on  the  Bear  River  about  twenty  miles 
north  of  Brigham  City,  Utah.  We  stayed  there  the  rest 
of  the  day  to  give  our  horses  a  little  rest.  The  two  Indians 
said  that  they  would  go  no  farther,  for  I  could  find  the 
way  from  there  very  well. 

The  next  morning  they  helped  me  pack  my  horses  and 
put  me  on  the  right  trail,  telling  me  not  to  ride  too  fast, 
for  I  could  get  to  the  white  settlement  long  before  night. 

As  I  left  them  I  said,  "You  may  look  for  me  back  in 
a  few  days." 

"Don't  try  to  come  back  this  fall,"  they  said,  "for  it 
is  getting  too  late  to  cross  the  mountains,  and  we  may 

119 


120  The  White  Indian  Boy 

have  a  big  snow  at  any  time  now.  It  will  take  you  six 
days  to  get  home  from  here,  and  that  will  make  it  too  late 
for  you  to  return.  You  had  better  stay  home  this  winter. 
The  Indians  will  be  there  next  summer.  You  can  come 
back  with  them." 

About  noon  I  came  to  some  warm  springs.  I  thought 
it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  wash  my  face  and  hands  as  I 
had  not  done  it  very  often  for  the  past  two  years.  I  saw 
that  I  had  plenty  of  time,  for  the  sun  was  high,  so  I  un 
packed  and  staked  my  horses  and  went  to  work  to  give 
myself  a  good  scrubbing.  I  ran  my  fingers  through  my 
hair  to  get  the  snarls  out,  but  after  all  my  fussing  I  could 
not  see  that  I  looked  much  better. 

My  hands  were  like  an  Indian's  and  my  costume  was  in 
the  latest  Indian  fashion.  My  leggings  were  trimmed  with 
new  red  flannel,  my  shirt  was  of  antelope  skins,  and  my 
frock  of  heavy  buckskin,  smoked  to  a  nice  reddish  hue, 
with  beads  of  all  colors  in  wide  stripes  down  the  breast 
and  on  the  shoulders,  and  fringes  all  around  the  bottom 
that  reached  nearly  to  my  knees.  My  cap  was  made  of 
rawhide,  with  notches  all  around  the  top,  and  looked  like 
a  crosscut  saw  turned  upside  down.  It  came  to  a  peak 
in  front,  and  mother  had  put  a  crown  in  it  with  muskrat 
skin. 

After  I  had  scrubbed  off  all  the  dirt  I  could,  I  packed  up 
and  started  again.  I  could  see  the  little  town  long  before 
I  came  to  it.  At  the  first  house  I  reached  a  man  had  just 
driven  up  with  a  load  of  hay.  When  I  asked  him  where  I 
could  find  a  place  to  camp,  he  told  me  to  stay  at  his  place 
if  I  wanted  to,  that  he  had  plenty  of  hay,  and  I  was  wel 
come,  so  I  took  him  at  his  word.  Unpacking  my  horses 
I  tied  them  under  the  shed  and  fed  them.  By  that  time 
the  man  came  out  and  said  that  supper  was  ready.  I  told 
him  that  I  had  plenty  to  eat  and  would  rather  not  go  in. 


Homeward  Bound 

"Come  and  eat  with  me,"  he  insisted,  and  taking  me 
by  the  hand,  he  led  me  into  the  house. 

The  women  and  children  stared  at  me  so  hard  that  I 
felt  uncomfortable.  The  children  would  look  at  me,  then 
turn  to  one  another  and  laugh. 

"I  suppose  you  would  like  to  wash  before  you  eat," 
said  the  lady.  She  gave  me  some  water  and  soap.  It 
was  the  first  soap  I  had  seen  for  two  years.  After  I  had 
washed,  she  told  me  to  sit  down  at  the  table. 

"  Don't  you  take  off  your  hat  when  you  eat  ?  "  the  man 
asked. 

"No,"  I  said. 

"Will  you  please  take  it  off  here?" 

I  pulled  it  off. 

They  had  bread  and  butter  and  potatoes  and  gravy  and 
milk  —  the  first  I  had  seen  since  I  left  home.  But  I  was 
mighty  glad  when  I  got  away  from  that  table. 

I  went  out  and  watered  my  horses  and  gave  them  some 
more  hay.  By  this  time  it  was  darkj  so  I  made  my  bed 
and  turned  in.  Just  as  I  was  getting  into  bed,  I  saw  this 
man  go  down  town  and  pretty  soon  he  came  back  with 
three  more  men.  I  saw  them  go  into  the  house.  Shortly 
afterwards  he  came  out  and  said  that  the  bishop  was  in  the 
house  and  would  like  to  have  a  talk  with  me.  I  told  him 
that  I  did  not  want  to  talk ;  but  he  kept  at  me  until  I  got 
up  and  went  into  the  house. 

The  bishop  said  his  name  was  Nichols,  or  something 
like  that;  then  he  added,  "I  see  by  your  dress  that  you 
have  been  with  the  Indians." 

I  told  him  that  I  had  lived  with  them  for  a  year  or  two. 

He  said  that  he  had  read  in  the  papers  about  a  little  boy 
running  away  with  the  Indians,  and  he  thought  I  might 
be  that  boy. 

"Maybe  I  am,"  I  said. 


The  White  Indian  Boy 

"To  what  tribe  do  you  belong?" 

"Washakie's  tribe." 

"I  have  heard,"  he  said,  "that  Washakie  is  a  chief 
among  the  Shoshones  and  that  his  tribe  is  friendly  to  the 
white  people.  What  do  you  know  about  them?" 

"Washakie's  band,"  I  replied,  "are  good  Indians.  I 
have  heard  the  chief  say  many  times  that  he  was  a  friend 
to  the  people  of  Utah,  that  he  had  seen  their  big  chief, 
who  was  a  very  good  'tibo.'" 

"  What  is  that  ? ' '  he  asked. 

"Oh,  I  forgot  I  was  talking  to  white  men,"  I  said; 
"'tibo'  means  friend." 

I  told  them  that  he  had  no  need  to  fear  Washakie's 
tribe,  but  that  old  Pocatello  had  drawn  away  some  of 
Washakie's  Indians,  and  that  they  were  bad  Indians,  who 
were  doing  everything  against  the  whites  they  could. 
Washakie  had  told  me  they  were  killing  the  emigrants  and 
stealing  their  horses  and  burning  their  wagons. 

Well,  this  bishop  talked  and  talked,  and  asked  me  ten 
thousand  questions,  it  seemed  to  me.  Finally  the  woman 
took  pity  on  me  and  said,  "Do  let  the  poor  boy  rest." 

I  told  them  I  had  always  been  in  bed  by  dark  and  that 
I  felt  pretty  tired. 

"Well,"  said  the  bishop,  "you  may  go  to  bed  now,  and 
I  will  see  you  in  the  morning.  You  had  better  come  down 
to  my  house  and  stay  all  day.  I  should  like  very  much 
to  have  Brother  Snow  talk  with  you." 

I  didn't  say  anything,  but  I  thought  that  neither  Snow 
nor  rain  would  catch  me  in  that  place  another  day,  so  I 
was  up  by  the  peep  of  day  and  away  I  went.  I  traveled 
seven  or  eight  miles  and  stopped  by  some  hot  springs, 
unpacked  my  horses,  and  got  me  something  to  eat.  I 
thought  that  I  would  not  stop  in  any  more  houses  where 
bishops  could  get  hold  of  me  and  talk  me  to  death. 


Homeward  Bound  123 

After  my  horses  had  fed,  I  started  on  my  way  again, 
and  after  traveling  about  ten  miles  more,  I  came  to  a 
place  called  Ogden.  As  I  was  going  along  the  main  street, 
a  man  standing  by  a  store  stopped  me  and  began  talking 
Indian  to  me.  He  asked  me  where  I  had  been.  I  told 
him.  While  we  were  talking,  several  more  men  came  up 
and  one  of  them  asked  me  where  I  was  going  to  camp 
that  night.  I  told  him  that  I  did  not  know,  but  that  I 
would  go  on  down  the  road  a  piece  until  I  found  grass  and 
water.  He  asked  me  to  put  my  horses  in  his  corral  and 
give  them  all  the  hay  they  could  eat. 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  would  rather  go  on." 

"No,"  he  said,  "you  must  stop  here  tonight."  With 
that  he  took  the  rope  out  of  my  hands  and  let  my  horses 
into  his  corral.  I  followed  him,  and  when  I  had  unpacked 
I  asked  him  if  he  was  a  bishop.  He  said  he  was.  I  told 
him  I  thought  so. 

"Why?"  he  asked. 

"Because  you  talk  so  much." 

He  laughed  and  said  that  I  must  not  mind  that,  for 
they  seldom  saw  a  person  like  me,  and  they  wanted  to 
find  out  all  they  could  about  the  Indians. 

After  a  while  he  invited  me  in  to  supper.  I  did  not  want 
to  go,  but  he  would  have  his  way,  so  I  went  in  with  him. 
I  think  he  said  his  name  was  West. 

This  Bishop  West,  if  that  was  his  name,  asked  me  a  good 
many  questions,  but  he  said  he  would  not  weary  me  by 
talking  too  long.  I  was  in  bed  soon  after  dark  that  night. 
I  intended  to  get  off  early  the  next  morning,  and  give  them 
the  slip  as  before ;  but  just  as  I  was  packing  up,  the  bishop 
came  out  and  said,  "Hold  on  there,  you  are  not  going 
before  breakfast." 

I  told  him  that  I  had  plenty  to  eat  with  me ;  but  he 
insisted  that  I  take  breakfast  with  him,  and  I  had  to  stay. 


124 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


Homeward  Bound  125 

He  asked  me  a  great  many  more  questions,  but  he  was 
very  nice  about  it.  I  felt  glad  to  talk  with  him,  for  he  was 
so  kind  and  good  to  me. 

He  said  that  I  would  be  a  very  useful  man,  if  I  was 
treated  right.  He  asked  me  whether  I  had  been  to  school 
much,  and  he  was  very  much  surprised  when  I  told  him 
that  I  had  never  attended  school  a  day  in  my  life.  He 
said  that  I  must  go  to  school,  and  if  I  lived  near  him  he 
would  see  that  I  did  go.  As  I  started  away  he  asked  me 
to  go  and  see  Governor  Young  when  I  got  to  Salt  Lake ; 
but  I  thought  I  did  not  want  to  do  it.  I  was  a  young  boy 
then  and  did  not  realize  the  importance  of  his  request. 

That  day  I  reached  a  place  called  Farmington.  Just 
as  I  was  nearing  town,  I  saw  some  boys  driving  cows. 

"Where  can  I  camp  tonight?"  I  asked  them. 

"Up  on  the  mountain  if  you  want  to,"  said  one  of 
them. 

"You  think  you  are  pretty  smart,"  I  said. 

"Just  as  smart  as  you,  Mr.  Injun,"  he  replied;  "if 
you  don't  believe  it,  just  get  off  that  buzzard  head  of  a 
horse  and  I'll  show  you." 

I  jumped  off  and  he  ran.  I  got  on  my  horse  and  started 
after  them,  but  they  scrambled  through  the  fence  and 
ran  away  through  the  fields.  I  went  on  through  the  town, 
and  after  getting  permission  from  the  owner,  camped  in 
his  field,  and  I  was  not  bothered  with  any  questions  that 
night. 

The  next  morning  I  was  off  pretty  early  and  reached 
Salt  Lake  City.  I  did  not  stay  there,  however,  but  went 
on  through  and  stopped  at  the  Jordan  River  bridge  for 
noon.  This  was  a  familiar  road  to  me  now,  for  I  had  been 
in  the  city  several  times  before.  That  afternoon  I  jour 
neyed  on  to  what  we  called  Black  Rock  and  camped  that 
night  at  the  southern  end  of  Great  Salt  Lake.  I  was  now 


126  The  White  Indian  Boy 

within  a  short  day's  ride  of  home.  I  could  hardly  stay 
there  till  morning,  I  was  so  anxious  now  to  get  home. 

Just  as  I  was  making  camp,  a  team  drove  up  with  three 
people  in  the  wagon.  I  knew  them.  They  were  John 
Zundel,  his  sister  Julia,  and  Jane  Branden,  our  nearest 
neighbors,  but  they  did  not  know  me  at  first. 

I  had  a  fire  and  was  broiling  a  rabbit  I  had  killed,  when 
Julia  came  up  and  tried  to  get  a  good  look  at  me,  but  I 
kept  my  face  turned  from  her  as  much  as  I  could.  Finally 
she  got  a  glimpse  of  my  face  and  went  to  the  wagon.  I 
heard  her  say  to  Jane, 

"That  is  the  whitest  Indian  I  ever  saw,  and  he  has  blue 
eyes." 

"I'll  bet  a  dollar  it  is  Nick  Wilson,"  said  Jane. 

They  came  over  where  I  was  and  Jane  said,  "Look  up 
here,  young  man,  and  let  us  see  you." 

I  let  them  take  a  look  at  me. 

"I  knew  it  was  you,  you  little  scamp!"  she  said,  tak 
ing  hold  of  me  and  shaking  me  and  patting  me  on  the 
back. 

"I've  a  good  notion  to  flog  you,"  she  went  on.  "Your 
poor  mother  has  worried  herself  nearly  to  death  about 
you." 

Morning  came  at  last,  and  I  packed  up  in  a  hurry  to  get 
home.  I  did  not  stop  this  time  until  I  reached  it. 

As  I  rode  up,  two  of  my  little  sisters,  who  were  playing 
by  the  side  of  the  house,  ran  in  and  told  mother  that  an 
Indian  was  out  there.  She  came  to  the  door,  and  she 
knew  me  the  moment  she  saw  me.  I  cannot  tell  you  just 
what  passed  the  next  hour,  but  they  were  all  happy  to 
have  me  back  safe  at  home  again. 

I  had  forgotten  all  about  my  horses  in  the  joy  of  the 
meeting.  When  I  finally  went  out  to  unpack  them,  the 
folks  all  followed  me  and  mother  asked, "Where  did  you 


Homeward  Bound  127 

get  all  of  those  horses  ?     Did  you  take  them  from  the  In 
dians  and  run  away?" 

I  told  her  that  they  were  mine,  that  I  had  not  rim  away 
from  the  Indians  as  I  had  from  her.  After  that  I  put 
my  ponies  in  the  field,  and  answering  their  eager  ques 
tions,  I  told  them  all  about  my  two  years  among  the 
Indians. 


"  Away  she  went,  through  the  bars  and  down  the  street." 

CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 

THE    YEAR    OF   THE   MOVE 

SOON  after  I  reached  home,  another  call  was  made  for 
men  to  go  out  and  stop  the  soldiers  from  entering  the 
territory.  I  wanted  to  go,  but  my  father  would  not  let 
me.  I  said  that  I  could  shoot  as  well  with  my  bow  and 
arrows  as  they  could  with  their  old  flintlock  guns,  but 
they  said  I  was  too  young,  so  my  older  brother  went,  and 
I  let  him  have  one  of  my  buffalo  robes  and  my  roan  pony. 
All  of  the  grain  was  not  out  of  the  fields  yet  and  all  of 
the  men  had  gone  off  to  the  "Echo  Canyon  War,"  as 
it  was  called,  except  a  few  very  old  men  who  could  not  do 
much  work.  The  women  and  little  boys  could  be  seen 
every  day  out  in  the  fields  hauling  grain  and  stacking  it. 
There  would  be  about  half  a  dozen  women  to  each  team 
and  a  little  boy  driving  the  oxen.  I  have  seen  as  many 
as  fifteen  to  twenty  teams  at  a  time  out  in  the  big  public 
field  hauling  grain,  and  just  as  many  women  and  children 
as  could  get  around  the  wagons.  They  seemed  happy  as 
larks,  for  they  were  singing  bravely. 

128 


The  Year  of  the  Move  129 

After  the  grain  was  hauled  it  was  threshed.  An  old 
man  by  the  name  of  Baker,  who  could  just  get  around 
by  the  aid  of  two  walking-sticks,  took  charge  of  the 
threshing  machine.  It  was  not  much  like  the  steam 
threshers  of  these  days.  This  one  had  a  cylinder  fixed 
in  a  big  box,  and  it  was  made  to  turn  by  horse  power, 
but  we  had  to  use  ox  power.  Old  "Daddy  Baker"  and 
as  many  women  as  could  get  around  the  machine  began  to 
do  the  threshing.  We  put  on  four  yoke  of  oxen  to  run 
the  old  "chaff-piler,"  as  we  called  it. 

The  oldest  boys  were  set  to  pitching  the  grain  to  the 
old  machine.  One  of  the  other  boys  started  up  the  cattle 
and  away  she  went.  I  was  to  do  the  feeding.  At  first 
the  boys  pitched  the  grain  so  fast  that  I  had  to  shove  three 
or  four  bundles  at  a  time  into  the  mouth  of  the  machine. 
This  choked  the  old  thing,  and  caused  the  belt  to  break, 
and  it  took  half  an  hour  to  patch  up  and  get  going 
again. 

The  straw  and  chaff  came  out  together.  About  fifteen 
women  with  rakes  would  string  out  and  rake  the  straw 
along  until  they  left  the  grain  behind,  then  about  forty 
children  would  stack  the  straw.  After  we  threshed  an 
hour  or  two  we  would  stop  and  "cave  up,"  as  we  called  it. 
That  meant  to  push  the  grain  and  chaff  in  a  pile  at  one 
side.  Then  we  would  go  on  again. 

When  we  had  finished  Brother  Martendale's  job,  we 
moved  over  to  Brother  Pumpswoggle's  place,  and  after 
that  we  threshed  for  some  other  brother  until  all  the  grain 
was  done. 

After  the  threshing  was  done,  we  took  the  old-fashioned 
fanning  mill  and  went  the  rounds  to  clean  the  chaff  from 
the  grain.  Some  of  the  women  would  take  turns  turning 
the  old  thing,  while  others  would  take  milk  pans  and 
buckets  and  put  grain  into  the  hopper.  The  chaff  would 


130  The  White  Indian  Boy 

fly  one  way  and  the  grain  go  another.  At  best  we  could 
thresh  only  about  one  hundred  fifty  bushels  a  day,  and 
we  had  about  twenty  thousand  bushels  to  thresh,  so  it 
looked  a  very  discouraging  task,  with  winter  so  near. 

But  as  luck  would  have  it,  some  of  the  men  came  in 
with  a  large  band  of  mules  and  horses  they  had  taken 
from  the  soldiers  and  four  of  the  men  were  left  home 
to  help  do  the  threshing.  "Lonzo"  Mecham  took  charge 
of  the  work,  and  we  used  some  of  the  captured  mules  to 
help  out,  so  the  threshing  went  on  much  faster.  They 
were  good  mules. 

During  all  of  that  fall  the  women  took  the  part  of  men 
as  well  as  women.  They  hauled  wood  from  the  moun 
tains,  dug  potatoes,  and  gathered  in  all  of  the  other  products 
from  the  gardens  and  farms.  Many  of  the  poor  mothers 
were  hardly  able  to  be  out,  but  they  took  their  double 
part  bravely  while  their  fathers,  brothers  and  sons  were 
off  in  the  mountains  defending  their  homes  and  families. 
They  were  poorly  dressed,  too,  for  the  cold  weather. 

Most  of  the  people  were  very  poor.  The  Indians  and 
grasshoppers  and  crickets  had  kept  them  down  so  that  it 
was  hard  at  best  to  make  a  living,  and  now  an  army  was 
coming,  they  feared,  to  burn  and  kill. 

The  soldiers  probably  would  have  made  sad  work,  if 
Lot  Smith  had  not  stopped  them  by  burning  their  wagon 
trains  full  of  supplies  out  on  the  Big  Sandy.1  This  held 
them  off  long  enough  to  enable  the  officers  of  the  govern 
ment  to  meet  with  the  leaders  of  the  state  and  come  to 
an  understanding ;  the  war  was  happily  prevented. 

During  the  winter  many  of  the  men  came  home.     Poor 

though  we  were  we  had  happy  times.     They  had  social 

gatherings  at  which  they  sang  and  danced  and  played 

games  to  while  away  the  wintry  evenings.     Sometimes, 

1  A  branch  of  the  Green  River,  in  Wyoming. 


The  Year  of  the  Move 


131 


Echo  Canyon,  Utah.     The  Overland  Trail  ran  through  this  pass. 

to  pay  the  fiddler,  the  people  took  squash  or  wheat  or 
carrots.    There  was  little  money  in  the  country. 

I  have  said  that  the  people  were  very  poor.  They  were 
poor  in  furniture,  bedding,  clothing,  but  generally  they 
had  enough  to  eat,  and  they  were  gradually  getting  cattle, 
sheep,  pigs,  and  chickens  to  help  out.  Their  furniture 
and  dishes,  however,  had  been  broken  and  used  up  in 
their  long  journey  across  the  plains  and  it  was  hard  to 
get  more.  Sometimes  a  coat  or  a  dress  would  be  patched 
so  many  times  and  with  so  many  different  kinds  of  cloth 


132  The  White  Indian  Boy 

that  it  was  difficult  to  tell  which  piece  of  cloth  it  had  been 
made  of  in  the  first  place. 

When  spring  came,  matters  had  not  been  yet  arranged 
between  our  leaders  and  the  government.  The  leaders 
were  uncertain  how  the  trouble  would  end,  so  they 
ordered  the  settlers  to  abandon  their  homes  for  the  time 
being  and  move  south.  This  was  a  trying  thing  to  do. 
The  crops  were  all  in  when  the  order  came  to  move. 
A  guard  was  left  to  take  care  of  what  was  left  behind, 
and  if  it  came  to  the  worst,  they  were  to  burn  everything 
that  might  be  useful  to  the  army.  My  father  with  his 
family  and  most  of  our  neighbors  moved  down  to  Spanish 
Fork,  Utah.  Here  we  stayed  for  further  orders  from  the 
authorities. 

To  make  this  move  from  their  homes,  the  people  had  to 
use  any  kind  of  outfit  they  could  get  together.  Every 
thing  from  a  wheelbarrow  to  an  eight-mule  team  could 
be  seen  along  the  roads.  An  old  wagon  with  a  cow  and 
a  horse  hitched  up  together  was  a  common  sight.  Some 
had  good  buggies,  others  an  old  ox  hitched  between  the 
shafts  of  a  rickety  old  two-wheeled  cart.  Some  of  the 
women  led  the  family  cows  with  their  bedding  and  a  little 
food  packed  on  their  backs.  Some  were  rich  and  many 
were  poor,  but  they  all  were  traveling  the  same  road,  and 
all  appeared  to  be  happy,  and  none  of  them  very  badly 
scared. 

By  this  time  I  had  traded  my  Crow  Indian  pony  for  a 
white  man's  saddle  and  a  two-year-old  heifer.  I  wanted 
to  go  back  to  live  with  Washakie  and  my  dear  old  Indian 
mother,  but  I  did  not  care  to  do  so  until  I  found  out  what 
the  army  was  going  to  do. 

We  had  not  been  in  Spanish  Fork  long  before  some 
Spaniards  from  California  brought  in  a  band  of  wild 
horses  to  trade  for  cattle.  A  good  many  people  had 


The  Year  of  the  Move 


133 


Remains  of  levee  built  by  Utah  troops  to  flood  a  canyon 
so  as  to  impede  the  march  of  Johnston's  army. 

gathered  around  the  corral  to  see  the  mustangs.  While 
sitting  on  the  corral  fence,  I  saw  a  little  black  three- 
year-old  mare  that  took  my  fancy.  I  asked  the  man 
what  he  would  take  for  her. 

"She  is  worth  sixty  dollars,"  he  said,  "but  if  you  will 


134  The  White  Indian  Boy 

jump  off  that  fence  on  to  her  back  and  ride  her,  you  may 
have  her  for  nothing." 

"That  is  a  whack,"  I  said ;  "I'll  do  it." 

He  told  me  to  wait  until  they  were  ready  to  turn  the 
horses  out.  It  was  not  long  before  he  said,  "Now  we 
are  ready  to  see  the  fun."  He  had  no  idea  that  I  would 
do  it.  He  thought  the  colt  would  throw  me  off  at  the 
first  jump,  and  they  would  have  a  good  laugh  on  my 
account. 

They  let  down  the  bars  and  drove  the  horses  around  so 
that  the  black  came  near  enough  for  me  to  jump  off  the 
fence  to  her  back.  As  she  came  close  I  made  the  leap 
and  landed  fairly.  Away  she  went  out  through  the  bars 
and  down  the  street.  Every  dog  in  the  place  seemed  to 
be  after  us. 

We  passed  over  the  hill  and  headed  towards  Pond 
Town.  Then  we  circled  to  the  west  towards  Goshen. 
The  band  of  horses  we  started  with  were  soon  left  way 
behind  and  we  ran  away  from  all  the  dogs. 

Some  one  ran  over  and  told  my  folks  that  I  was  on  a 
wild  horse,  that  it  was  running  away  and  I  would  be 
killed.  Mother  was  not  much  worried,  for  she  knew  I 
had  been  on  wild  horses  before.  My  brother,  however, 
jumped  on  my  pinto  pony  and  struck  out  after  me. 
When  he  finally  caught  up,  the  colt  I  had  been  riding 
had  run  herself  down,  and  had  stopped.  He  rode  up 
and  handed  me  a  rope,  which  I  put  around  the  mare's 
neck,  and  then  got  off  to  let  her  rest.  After  a  while  I 
mounted  her  again  and  with  my  brother  drove  her  back 
to  town.  The  stranger  kept  his  word.  I  had  won  the 
black  mare. 

When  we  got  back,  all  of  the  men  that  had  seen  us  start 
off  came  up  to  look  at  us.  Among  them  was  a  Mr.  Faust, 
"Doc  Faust,"  they  called  him.  He  said  that  I  beat  all 


The  Year  of  the  Move  135 

the  boys  at  riding  he  ever  saw ;  that  he  had  a  good  many 
horses  on  his  ranch  he  wanted  broken  and  would  give 
me  fifty  dollars  a  month  to  come  and  do  it  for  him.  When 
I  told  mother  about  it,  she  would  not  give  her  consent, 
for  my  father  was  very  sick  and  she  was  afraid  he  would 
not  live  much  longer. 

We  stayed  in  the  neighborhood  of  Spanish  Fork  until 
about  the  first  of  August,  then  word  came  that  we  could 
go  back  home.  The  leaders  had  come  to  a  peaceful 
agreement  with  the  government. 

We  started  back  to  our  homes  with  a  hurrah !  and  when 
we  reached  them,  we  all  went  to  work  with  a  will.  I 
never  saw  larger  crops  than  we  raised  that  year.  Wheat 
ran  from  fifty  to  seventy-five  bushels  to  the  acre.  It 
was  the  same  all  through  the  territory.  Best  of  all  we 
received  the  highest  prices  for  it.  The  army  bought 
all  the  gram,  hay,  straw,  and  other  products  that  we  had 
to  sell. 

All  of  our  harvesting  had  to  be  done  by  hand,  for  there 
were  no  reaping  machines  in  those  days.  We  hired 
Owen  Baston  to  cradle  our  grain,  and  my  brother  and  I 
bound  it.  That  fall,  after  our  wheat  was  all  harvested, 
my  father  died. 

After  the  death  of  father,  my  brother  and  I  did  not  get 
along  very  well  together.  He  was  a  hard  worker.  I  had 
never  done  much  work  and  it  went  rather  hard  with  me. 
Riding  horses,  I  thought,  was  more  fun  than  slaving  on 
the  farm,  so  I  decided  to  go  to  Mr.  Faust's  ranch  and 
help  him  break  his  bronchos.  After  that  I  intended  to 
go  back  to  live  with  Washakie. 

Mr.  Faust  lived  at  the  south  end  of  Rush  Valley,  about 
sixty  miles  southwest  of  Salt  Lake.  When  I  got  to  his 
ranch  he  was  very  glad  to  see  me. 

"We  will  have  that  old  outlaw  of  a  horse  brought  to 


136 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


time  now,"  he  said  to  his  other  riders.  "Here  is  the 
boy  that  can  ride  him." 

I  told  him  that  I  was  not  so  sure  of  that,  for  I  had 
never  ridden  a  bad  horse  for  more  than  a  year. 

"Bad,"  he  said,  "what  do  you  call  jumping  off  a  fence 
on  to  the  back  of  a  wild  mustang  P  " 

"Oh,  she  wasn't  a  bad  animal  to  ride,"  I  said;  "she 
did  nothing  but  run." 

"My  horses  are  not  bad  to  break,"  he  went  on,  "but 
one  of  them  has  thrown  two  or  three  of  the  boys,  and  it 
has  made  him  mean.  I  want  him  broken,  for  he  is  about 
as  good  a  horse  as  I  have,  and  I  know  you  can  break 
him." 

The  next  morning  one  of  Mr.  Faust's  best  riders  and 
I  went  out  to  bring  in  the  band  the  outlaw  was  with. 
This  man  told  me  that  if  I  was  not  a  very  good  rider  I 
had  better  keep  off  that  horse,  or  he  would  kill  me.  I 
told  him  that  I  did  not  know  much  about  riding,  but  I 
was  not  afraid  to  try  him.  We  brought  in  the  band  and 
roped  the  outlaw. 


Fart  of  fortifications  built  by  Utah  troops  to  hold  back  Johnston's  army. 


The  Year  of  the  Move  137 

Mr.  Faust  asked  me  whether  I  thought  I  could  ride 
him.  I  was  ready  to  try.  The  man  who  had  gone  with 
me  tried  to  get  Mr.  Faust  not  to  let  me  do  it,  for  he  said 
I  might  be  killed.  I  began  to  think  he  was  afraid  I 
should  prove  the  better  rider,  for  the  outlaw  had  pitched 
him  off  several  times. 

When  things  were  ready,  I  mounted  the  broncho.  He 
went  off  very  peaceably  for  a  little  way,  and  I  thought 
that  they  were  making  a  fool  of  me;  but  pretty  soon 
the  old  boy  turned  loose,  and  he  fairly  made  my  neck 
pop.  He  gave  me  the  hardest  bucking  I  ever  had;  but 
he  did  it  straight  ahead.  He  did  not  whirl  as  some  horses 
do,  so  I  stayed  with  him  all  right. 

When  he  stopped  bucking,  I  sent  him  through  for  ten 
miles  about  as  fast  as  he  ever  went,  and  when  I  got  back 
to  the  ranch  I  rode  up  the  corral  where  the  man  was 
saddling  another  horse. 

Standing  up  in  my  saddle,  I  said,  "Do  you  call  this  a 
bad  horse  ?  If  you  do  you  don't  know  what  a  bad  horse 
is." 

The  fellow  did  not  like  me  very  much  after  that.  I 
got  along  very  well  with  the  old  outlaw;  but  I  had  to 
give  him  some  very  hard  rides  before  he  acknowledged 
me  his  master. 

I  had  a  number  of  similar  experiences  in  taming  horses 
which  were  hard  to  manage,  and  although  I  did  not  come 
out  without  a  scratch  or  a  bruise,  I  succeeded  in  making 
almost  any  horse  I  tried  to  ride  understand  that  I  was 
his  master.  However,  I  would  not  advise  a  boy  who  has 
not  a  particular  faculty  for  riding  unmanageable  horses 
to  engage  in  the  sport  on  the  strength  of  my  remarks  here. 
It  takes  quite  a  knack  to  establish  the  right  understanding 
between  a  horse  and  a  man.  Some  persons  —  women  as 
well  as  men  —  seem  to  have  this  gift  naturally,  and  with- 


138  The  White  Indian  Boy 

out  any  idea  of  boasting  I  may  say  that  I  think  I  had  it 
more  than  most  of  the  boys  in  our  part  of  the  country. 

One  reason,  perhaps,  why  I  got  along  so  well  with  them 
was  that  ever  since  I  was  a  little  boy  I  have  loved  horses 
and  liked  to  be  around  them,  thinking  of  them  more  as 
human  beings  than  mere  dumb  beasts.  It  was  the  same 
way,  I  may  add,  with  dogs ;  and  horses  and  dogs  know 
when  a  boy  or  a  man  has  this  feeling,  and  it  makes  a  dif 
ference  even  in  the  toughest  of  them  as  to  how  they  will 
treat  you. 

I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  stop  and  make  it  a  part  of  my 
story  to  tell  about  some  more  of  my  adventures  in  taming 
wild  horses.  But  possibly  this  is  just  as  well,  as  I  am 
afraid  true  stories  might  not  prove  very  interesting  be 
side  some  which  have  been  printed  in  papers  and  maga 
zines,  in  which  I  think  the  writers  must  have  drawn 
largely  upon  their  imagination  in  order  to  make  thrilling 
"  yarns." 


<?i.-i 

"  Their  leader  grabbed  ray  horse's  rein." 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 

THE   PONY   EXPRESS 

ABOUT  the  time  I  had  decided  to  go  back  to  my  Indian 
friends,  word  came  that  the  Pony  Express  was  to  be 
started,  and  Mr.  Faust  induced  me  to  stay  and  be  one 
of  the  pony  riders.  I  sold  my  roan  pony  to  a  sergeant 
in  Camp  Floyd  for  seventy-five  dollars  and  my  little 
black  mare  for  a  hundred  dollars.  Part  of  this  money 
I  gave  to  mother,  and  the  rest  I  used  to  buy  some  clothes. 

A  great  "powwow"  was  going  on  about  the  Pony 
Express  coming  through  the  country.  The  company 
had  begun  to  build  its  roads  and  stations.  These  stations 
were  about  ten  miles  apart.  They  were  placed  as  near 
to  a  spring,  or  other  watering  place,  as  possible.  There 
were  two  kinds  of  them,  the  "home  station"  and  the 
"way  station."  At  the  way  stations,  the  riders  changed 
horses ;  at  the  home  stations,  which  were  about  fifty 
miles  from  each  other,  the  riders  were  changed;  and 
there  they  ate  their  meals  and  slept. 

Finally  the  time  came  for  the  express  horses  to  be 
distributed  along  the  line,  and  the  station  keepers  and 

139 


140  The  White  Indian  Boy 

riders  were  sent  to  the  various  stations.  Mr.  Faust 
and  Major  Howard  Egan  went  on  my  bond,  and  I  was 
sent  out  west  into  Nevada  to  a  station  called  Ruby  Valley. 
This  was  a  "home  station."  It  was  kept  by  William 
Smith.  Samuel  Lee  was  his  hostler. 

When  we  were  hired  to  ride  the  express,  we  had  to  go 
before  a  justice  of  the  peace  and  swear  we  would  be  at 
our  post  at  all  times,  and  not  go  farther  than  one  hundred 
yards  from  the  station  except  when  carrying  the  mail. 
When  we  started  out  we  were  not  to  turn  back,  no  matter 
what  happened,  until  we  had  delivered  the  mail  at  the 
next  station.  We  must  be  ready  to  start  back  at  a  half 
minute's  notice,  day  or  night,  rain  or  shine,  Indians  or 
no  Indians. 

Our  saddles,  which  were  all  provided  by  the  company, 
had  nothing  to  them  but  the  bare  tree,  stirrups,  and 
cinch.  Two  large  pieces  of  leather  about  sixteen  inches 
wide  by  twenty-four  long  were  laced  together  with  a 
strong  leather  string  thrown  over  the  saddle.  Fastened 
to  these  were  four  pockets,  two  in  front  and  two  behind ; 
these  hung  on  each  side  of  the  saddle.  The  two  hind  ones 
were  the  largest.  The  one  in  front  on  the  left  side  was 
called  the  "way  pocket."  All  of  these  pockets  were 
locked  with  small  padlocks  and  each  home  station  keeper 
had  a  key  to  the  "way  pocket."  When  the  express 
arrived  at  the  home  station,  the  keeper  would  unlock 
the  "way  pocket"  and  if  there  were  any  letters  for  the 
boys  between  the  home  stations,  the  rider  would  dis 
tribute  them  as  he  went  along.  There  was  also  a  card 
in  the  way  pocket  that  the  station  keeper  would  take  out 
and  write  on  it  the  time  the  express  arrived  and  left  his 
station.  If  the  express  was  behind  time,  he  would  tell 
the  rider  how  much  time  he  had  to  make  up. 

Well,  the  time  came  that  we  had  to  start.     On  the  after- 


The  Pony  Express  141 

noon  of  April  3,  1860,  at  a  signal  cannon  shot,  a  pony  rider 
left  St.  Joseph,  Missouri ;  and  the  same  moment  another 
left  Sacramento,  California  —  one  speeding  west,  the  other 
east  over  plains  and  mountains  and  desert.  Night  and 
day  the  race  was  kept  up  by  the  different  riders  and  their 
swift  horses  until  the  mail  was  carried  through.  Then 
they  turned  and  dashed  back  over  the  same  trail  again. 
Each  man  would  make  about  fifty  miles  a  day,  changing 
horses  four  or  five  times  to  do  it. 

Not  many  riders  could  stand  the  long,  fast  riding  at  first, 
but  after  about  two  weeks  they  would  get  hardened  to  it. 

At  first  the  rider  would  be  charged  up  with  the  saddle 
he  was  riding,  and  his  first  wages  were  kept  back  for  it. 
If  he  had  no  revolver,  and  had  to  get  one  from  the  com 
pany,  that  would  add  another  heavy  expense  to  be  de 
ducted  from  his  wages.  Some  of  the  boys  were  killed 
by  the  Indians  before  they  had  paid  for  these  things. 
Our  pay  was  too  small  for  the  hard  work  and  the  dangers 
we  went  through. 

Everything  went  along  first  rate  for  a  while,  but  after 
about  six  or  eight  months  of  that  work,  the  big,  fine 
horses  began  to  play  out,  and  then  the  company  bought 
up  a  lot  of  wild  horses  from  California,  strung  them  along 
the  road  and  put  the  best  riders  to  breaking  them. 

Peter  Neece,  our  home  station  keeper,  was  a  big,  strong 
man,  and  a  good  rider.  He  was  put  to  breaking  some  of 
these  mustangs  for  the  boys  on  his  beat.  After  he  had 
ridden  one  of  them  a  time  or  two,  he  would  turn  the  half- 
broken,  wild  things  over  to  the  express  boys  to  ride. 
Generally,  when  a  hostler  could  lead  them  into  and  out 
of  the  stable  without  getting  his  head  kicked  off,  the 
bronchos  were  considered  broken.  Very  likely  they  had 
been  handled  just  enough  to  make  them  mean.  I  found 
it  to  be  so  with  most  of  the  horses  they  gave  me  to  ride. 


142  The  White  Indian  Boy 

I  was  not  a  bit  afraid  of  the  Indians  at  first ;  but  when 
the  boys  began  to  get  shot  at  and  killed  by  the  skulking 
savages,  I  might  not  have  been  afraid,  but  I  was  pretty 
badly  scared  just  the  same. 

At  one  time  my  home  station  was  at  Shell  Creek.  I 
rode  from  there  to  Deep  Creek.  One  day  the  Indians 
killed  a  rider  out  on  the  desert,  and  when  I  was  to  meet 
him  at  Deep  Creek,  he  was  not  there.  I  had  to  keep 
right  on  until  I  met  him.  It  was  not  until  I  reached 
the  next  station,  Willow  Creek,  that  I  found  out  he  had 
been  killed.  My  horse  was  about  jaded  by  this  time,  so 
I  had  to  stay  there  and  let  him  rest.  I  should  have  had 
to  start  back  that  night  if  the  Indians  had  not  come 
upon  us. 

About  four  o'clock  that  afternoon,  seven  Indians  rode 
up  to  the  station  and  asked  for  something  to  eat.  Neece, 
the  station  keeper,  picked  up  a  sack  holding  about  twenty 
pounds  of  flour  and  offered  it  to  them.  They  demanded 
a  sack  of  flour  apiece.  He  threw  it  back  into  the  house 
and  told  them  to  clear  out,  that  he  would  not  give  them 
anything. 

This  made  them  angry,  and  as  they  passed  a  shed  about 
five  rods  from  the  house  they  each  shot  an  arrow  into  a 
poor  old  lame  cow,  that  happened  to  be  standing  under  a 
shed.  When  Neece  saw  that,  he  jerked  out  his  pistol 
and  commenced  shooting  at  them.  He  killed  two  of  the 
Indians  and  the  rest  ran. 

"Now,  boys,"  he  said,  "we  are  in  for  a  hot  time  tonight. 
There's  a  bunch  of  about  thirty  of  the  red  rascals  up  the 
canyon,  and  they  will  be  on  us  as  soon  as  it  gets  dark. 
We'll  have  to  fight." 

A  man  by  the  name  of  Lynch  was  with  us  at  the  time. 
He  had  boasted  a  good  deal  about  what  he  would  do  if 
the  Indians  attacked  him.  We  thought  he  was  a  kind  of 


The  Pony  Express 


143 


desperado.  I  felt  pretty 
safe  until  he  weakened 
and  began  to  cry,  then 
I  wanted  all  of  us  to  get 
on  our  horses  and  skip 
for  the  next  station  ;  but 
Pete  said :  "  No ;  we  will 
load  up  all  of  our  old 
guns  and  get  ready  for 
them  when  they  come. 
There  are  only  four  of 
us;  but  we  can  stand 
off  the  whole  bunch  of 
them." 

Just  a  little  before 
dark  we  could  see  a  big 
dust  over  towards  the 
mouth  of  the  canyon 
about  six  miles  from  the 
station.  We  knew  they 
were  coming.  Neece 

thought  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  go  out  from  the  station 
a  hundred  yards  or  so  and  surprise  them  as  they  came  up. 
When  we  got  there  he  had  us  lie  down  a  little  way  apart. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "when  you  fire,  jump  to  one  side,  so 
if  they  shoot  at  the  blaze  of  your  gun,  you  will  not  be 
there." 

You  bet  I  lay  close  to  the  ground.  Pretty  soon  we 
heard  the  thumping  of  their  horses'  hoofs.  It  seemed 
to  me  there  were  hundreds  of  them.  And  such  yells 
as  they  let  out,  I  never  heard  before.  They  were  coming 
straight  for  us,  and  I  thought  they  were  going  to  run  right 
over  us.  It  was  sandy  where  we  lay,  with  little  humps  here 
and  there  and  scrubby  greasewood  growing  on  the  humps. 


Bur.  of  Am.  Ethnology,  Smiths onian  Institution 

An  aged  Indian  of  the  Nevada  desert, 
of  Pony  Express  days,  with  his  bow 
and  arrows. 


144  The  White  Indian  Boy 

When  the  Indians  got  close  enough,  Pete  shot  and 
jumped  away  to  one  side.  I  had  two  pistols,  one  in  each 
hand,  cocked  and  ready  to  pull  the  trigger,  and  was 
crawling  on  my  elbows  and  knees.  Each  time  he  would 
shoot  I  saw  him  j ump.  Soon  they  were  all  shooting  but  me. 
I  got  so  excited  that  I  forgot  to  fire,  but  I  kept  jumping. 

After  I  had  jumped  a  good  many  times,  I  happened  to 
land  in  a  little  wash,  or  ravine,  that  the  water  had  made. 
My  back  came  up  nearly  level  with  the  top  of  the  banks. 
Anyway  I  pressed  myself  down  in  it.  I  was  badly  scared. 
My  heart  was  beating  like  a  triphammer. 

As  I  lay  there,  the  shooting  ceased.  After  a  while  I 
raised  my  head  and  looked  off  towards  the  desert.  Those 
humps  of  sand  covered  with  greasewood  looked  exactly 
like  Indians  on  horses,  and  I  could  see  several  of  them 
near  the  wash.  I  crouched  down  again  and  lay  there  a 
long  time ;  it  seemed  hours. 

Finally  everything  was  so  still  I  decided  to  go  and  see 
whether  my  horse  was  where  I  had  staked  him.  If  he 
was,  I  intended  to  jump  on  him  and  strike  back  for  the 
Deep  Creek  station,  and  tell  them  that  the  boys  were 
killed;  but  as  I  went  crawling  around  the  house  on  my 
elbows  and  knees  with  my  revolvers  ready  to  shoot,  I 
saw  a  light  shining  through  the  cracks.  It  must  be  full 
of  Indians,  I  thought ;  and  I  lay  there  quietly  to  watch 
what  they  were  doing. 

Suddenly  I  heard  one  of  the  men  a  little  distance  from 
the  house  say,  "Did  you  find  anything  of  him?" 

Another  answered:  "No,  I  guess  he  is  gone." 

I  knew  then  it  was  the  boys.  When  I  heard  them  go 
into  the  house  and  shut  the  door,  I  slipped  up  and  peeped 
through  the  cracks.  The  three  of  them  were  in  there 
all  right.  I  was  almost  too  ashamed  to  go  in;  but  I 
finally  went  around  and  opened  the  door. 


The  Pony  Express  145 

"Hello!"  Neece  called  out;  "here  he  is!  How  far 
did  you  chase  them,  Nick  ?  I  knew  you  would  stay  with 
them." 

Several  Indians  had  been  killed  and  the  rest  of  the 
bunch  had  run  when  the  surprise  attack  was  made  on 
them.  They  did  not  bother  us  any  more  just  then,  but 
they  got  plenty  of  revenge  later.  The  next  morning  I 
went  back  to  Deep  Creek. 

Shortly  after  this  I  was  making  my  ride  through  one 
of  the  canyons  on  the  trail  when  suddenly  four  Indians 
jumped  out  of  the  rocks  and  brush  into  the  road  just 
ahead  of  me.  I  whirled  my  pony  and  started  to  run 
back,  when  I  found  three  other  Indians  standing  in  the 
trail.  I  couldn't  climb  the  sides  of  the  canyon ;  the 
devils  had  me  trapped,  and  they  began  to  close  in  on 
me  with  their  bows  and  arrows  ready.  Only  one  of  them 
had  a  gun. 

I  did  not  know  what  else  to  do,  so  I  sat  still  on  my 
horse.  As  they  came  up  I  recognized  old  Tabby  among 
them.  This  gave  me  some  hope.  Their  leader,  a  one- 
eyed,  mean-looking  old  rascal,  grabbed  my  horse's  rein, 
and  ordered  me  to  get  off.  I  tried  to  get  old  Tabby's 
eye,  but  he  wouldn't  look  my  way  nor  speak  to  me.  Two 
Indians  led  my  horse  about  a  hundred  yards  up  the 
canyon  and  held  it  there,  while  the  one-eyed  Indian 
talked  to  me. 

He  said  I  had  no  right  to  cross  their  country.  The 
land  belonged  to  the  Indians,  and  they  were  going  to 
drive  the  white  men  out  of  it.  He  took  his  ramrod  out 
of  his  old  gun  and  marked  a  trail  in  the  road.  "We  will 
burn  the  stations,  here  and  here  and  here,"  he  went  on, 
jabbing  the  rod  in  the  dirt.  "And  we  will  kill  the  pony 
men." 

With  this  threat  he  left  me  standing  in  the  road,  while 


146 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


"  Joe  Dugout's  "  well  on  old  Pony  Express  trail,  about  ten  miles  north 
east  of  Camp  Floyd.  "  Joe  "  kept  a  "  way  station  "  here  for  the  express. 

he,  with  old  Tabby  and  the  rest,  walked  away  into  the 
brush  and  began  to  talk.  I  could  not  hear  what  they 
were  saying.  I  was  badly  scared.  Then  they  made  a  fire. 

My  soul!  I  thought.  Are  they  going  to  burn  me? 
I  was  just  about  to  make  a  dash  for  the  two  Indians  and 
fight  for  my  horse;  but  that  would  have  been  a  fool 
thing  to  do. 

After  a  while  one  of  the  Indians  came  up  and  asked  me 
if  I  had  any  tobacco.  I  gave  him  all  I  had.  That  made 
things  look  a  little  better.  They  had  a  smoke  and  then 
Old  Tabby  came  to  talk  with  me. 

The  Indians,  he  said,  wanted  to  kill  me,  but  he  would 
not  agree  to  it.  My  father,  he  said,  was  his  good  friend. 
But  I  must  turn  back  and  never  carry  the  mail  there 
again ;  for  if  they  caught  me  they  would  surely  kill  me 
next  time. 

"But  this  mail's  got  to  go  through,"  I  said.  "Let 
me  take  it  this  time  and  I  will  not  ride  here  again." 


The  Pony  Express  147 

When  I  had  made  this  promise,  they  let  me  go.  I  did 
not  carry  the  mail  over  there  any  more;  but  I  was  sent 
further  west,  about  three  hundred  miles,  to  ride  from 
Carson  Sink  to  Fort  Churchill.  The  distance  was  about 
seventy-five  miles  and  was  a  very  hard  ride,  for  the  horses 
as  well  as  for  me,  because  much  of  the  trail  led  through 
deep  sand.  Some  things  were  not  so  bad,  however; 
I  had  no  mountains  to  cross,  and  the  Indians  were  more 
friendly  here. 

East  of  my  beat  along  Egan  Canyon,  Shell  Creek,  and 
Deep  Creek,  they  had  begun  to  be  very  ugly,  threatening 
to  burn  the  stations  and  kill  the  people,  and  the  following 
spring  they  did  break  out  in  dead  earnest.  Some  of  the 
stations  were  burned  and  one  of  the  riders  was  killed. 
That  spring  I  was  changed  back  into  Major  Egan's  division 
and  rode  from  Shell  Creek  to  Ruby  Valley. 

Things  grew  worse  that  summer.  More  stations  were 
burned,  some  hostlers  and  riders  were  killed,  and  I  got 
very  badly  wounded.  It  happened  this  way.  I  had  been 
taking  some  horses  to  Antelope  Station,  and  on  my  way 
back,  I  made  a  stop  at  Spring  Valley  Station.  When  I 
got  there,  the  two  boys  that  looked  after  the  station  were 
out  on  the  wood  pile  playing  cards.  They  asked  me  to 
stay  and  have  dinner.  I  got  my  horse  and  started  him 
towards  the  station,  but  instead  of  going  into  the  stable 
he  went  behind  it  where  some  other  horses  were  grazing. 

Pretty  soon  we  saw  the  horses  going  across  the  meadow 
towards  the  cedars  with  two  Indians  behind  them.  We 
started  after  them  full  tilt  and  gained  on  them  a  little. 
As  we  ran  I  fired  three  shots  at  them  from  my  revolver, 
but  they  were  too  far  off  for  me  to  hit  them.  They 
reached  the  cedars  a  little  before  we  did. 

I  was  ahead  of  the  other  two  boys,  and  as  I  ran  around 
a  large  cedar  one  of  the  Indians  shot  me  in  the  head  with 


148  The  White  Indian  Boy 

a  flint-tipped  arrow.  It  struck  me  about  two  inches 
above  the  left  eye.  The  two  boys  were  on  the  other  side 
of  the  tree.  Seeing  the  Indians  run,  they  came  around 
to  find  me  lying  on  the  ground  with  the  arrow  sticking 
in  my  head.  They  tried  to  pull  the  arrow  out,  but  the 
shaft  came  away  and  left  the  flint  in  my  head.  Thinking 
that  I  would  surely  die,  they  rolled  me  under  a  tree  and 
started  for  the  next  station  as  fast  as  they  could  go. 
There  they  got  a  few  men  and  came  back  the  next  morning 
to  bury  me ;  but  when  they  got  to  me  and  found  that  I  was 
still  alive,  they  thought  they  would  not  bury  me  just  then. 

They  carried  me  to  a  station  called  Cedar  Wells,  and 
sent  to  Ruby  Valley  for  a  doctor.  When  he  came,  he 
took  the  spike  out  of  my  head  and  told  the  boys  to  keep  a 
wet  rag  on  the  wound,  as  that  was  all  they  could  do  for  me. 

I  lay  there  for  six  days,  when  Major  Egan  happened 
to  come  along.  Seeing  that  I  was  still  alive,  he  sent  for 
the  doctor  again.  When  the  doctor  came  and  saw  I  was 
no  worse,  he  began  to  do  something  for  me.  But  I  knew 
nothing  of  all  this.  For  eighteen  days  I  lay  unconscious. 
Then  I  began  to  get  better  fast,  and  it  was  not  long  before 
I  was  riding  again. 

If  Mr.  Egan  had  not  happened  along  when  he  did,  I 
think  I  should  not  be  here  now  telling  about  it.  But 
oh,  I  have  suffered  with  my  head  at  times  since  then ! 

The  Indians  kept  getting  worse.  They  began  to  attack 
and  murder  emigrants,  and  they  did  a  lot  of  damage  to 
the  express  line  by  burning  stations,  killing  the  riders, 
and  running  off  with  the  horses.  It  became  harder  to 
get  riders  to  carry  the  mail;  for  every  one  that  could 
leave  would  do  so,  and  the  agents  found  it  difficult  to 
find  others  to  take  the  dangerous  job.  They  raised  the 
wages  from  forty  dollars  to  sixty  per  month,  but  men  did 
not  want  to  risk  their  lives  for  even  that  price. 


The  Pony  Express  149 

Between  Deep  Creek  and  Shell  Creek  was  what  we 
called  "Eight-mile  station."  It  was  kept  by  an  old  man, 
and  he  had  two  young  emigrant  boys  to  help  him.  Their 
mother  had  died  of  the  cholera,  east  of  Salt  Lake  City, 
and  their  father  had  been  shot  by  the  Indians  farther  along 
the  trail  west.  He  died  when  they  reached  Deep  Creek, 
leaving  these  two  boys  with  the  station  keeper.  Before 
he  passed  away  he  gave  this  keeper  five  hundred  dollars, 
a  span  of  big  mules,  and  a  new  wagon  if  he  would  send 
the  boys  back  to  Missouri  where  the  family  had  lived. 

As  it  was  too  late  for  them  to  make  the  trip  that  fall, 
the  boys  were  to  pass  the  winter  at  Deep  Creek.  The 
old  keeper  of  the  "Eight-mile  station"  could  not  do  the 
work  very  well,  so  the  older  of  the  two  boys-  was  sent 
there  to  help  him.  An  emigrant  train  came  along  and 
the  old  man  slipped  away  with  it,  leaving  the  boy  to  take 
care  of  the  station  alone.  It  was  hard  to  get  men  to  stay 
at  this  station  when  the  Indians  began  to  get  mean.  The 
boy  wanted  to  stay  with  it,  so  they  let  him  do  it ;  and  his 
brother  was  sent  out  to  help  him. 

One  day,  while  these  two  boys  were  in  charge,  I  rode 
up  there  to  meet  the  other  rider.  As  I  reached  the 
station,  I  could  see  him  coming  five  or  six  miles  away. 
While  we  were  watching  him  a  band  of  Indians  broke  out 
of  the  brush  and  began  to  chase  him.  He  made  a  great 
race  for  his  life ;  but  just  before  he  reached  the  station, 
they  shot  and  killed  him.  We  knew  the  Indians  would 
attack  the  station  next,  so  we  hurried  to  the  barn  and 
brought  the  three  horses  there  to  the  house. 

The  station  was  a  stone  building  about  twelve  by 
twenty  feet  in  size,  with  a  shed  roof  covered  with  dirt, 
so  that  no  timbers  were  sticking  out  for  the  Indians  to 
set  on  fire.  There  were  portholes  in  each  end  of  the  build 
ing,  and  one  on  each  side  of  the  door  in  front. 


150  The  White  Indian  Boy 

We  succeeded  in  getting  our  horses  into  this  house  by 
the  time  the  Indians  surrounded  the  station.  They  kept 
shooting  at  the  back  of  the  house ;  for  they  soon  learned 
not  to  come  up  in  front  of  these  portholes.  One  or  two 
of  them  that  were  foolish  enough  to  do  it  got  killed.  I 
know  that  one  made  a  mistake  by  darkening  my  port 
hole.  When  I  saw  the  shadow,  I  pulled  the  trigger. 
Three  days  afterwards,  when  I  went  out,  I  found  an 
Indian  lying  there.  He  must  have  got  in  the  way  of  my 
bullet. 

They  kept  us  there  for  three  days.  It  was  lucky  for 
us  that  the  station  was  built  on  low  ground.  The  water 
had  risen  in  the  cellar  under  the  house.  We  had  only 
one  pan  that  the  boys  had  used  for  mixing  dough  to  make 
their  bread.  This  we  had  to  use  to  water  and  feed  the 
horses  in  and  for  mixing  bread  also.  The  water  in  the 
cellar  was  not  good,  but  it  kept  us  from  choking  to  death 
those  three  days  that  we  were  held  prisoners. 

The  younger  boy  was  not  more  than  eleven  years  old, 
and  the  other  one  was  about  fourteen.  I  was  only  a  few 
years  older.  We  put  the  little  boy  to  tending  the  horses 
and  looking  after  things  while  we  guarded  the  house. 
Sometimes  the  little  fellow  would  get  to  crying,  and 
talking  about  his  mother  dying  and  his  father  getting 
killed  by  the  Indians.  The  older  boy  was  full  of  grit. 
He  would  try  to  comfort  his  little  brother. 

The  first  night  none  of  us  slept  at  all,  but  the  next  day 
and  the  following  night  I  let  them  sleep  a  little  by  having 
one  of  them  watch  while  the  other  slept.  The  third  night 
I  went  to  sleep  and  left  the  boys  on  guard. 

Along  towards  morning,  just  as  it  was  getting  daylight, 
they  came  and  woke  me  up.  There  was  a  lot  of  shooting 
going  on  outside,  and  they  wanted  to  know  what  it  meant. 
I  listened,  and  the  first  thing  I  heard  was  somebody  say- 


The  Pony  Express  151 

ing,  "Go  to  the  house  and  see  if  the  boy  is  all  right."  I 
looked  through  the  hole  and  saw  a  lot  of  soldiers.  Some 
of  Johnston's  army  had  been  sent  out  to  clear  the  trail 
of  the  murdering  Indians. 

Another  exciting  experience  happened  to  me  when 
Mr.  Kennedy,  a  horse  trader,  was  bringing  a  large  band 
of  mustangs  along  the  trail  from  California  to  Salt  Lake 
to  sell.  He  got  belated  out  on  the  desert  and  found  it 
necessary  to  stop  at  Deep  Creek,  where  he  could  winter 
his  horses  out  instead  of  feeding  them.  The  Indians 
were  so  bad  that  we  had  to  send  out  guards  with  the 
horses  in  the  daytime,  and  at  night  corral  them,  and  place 
a  strong  guard  around  them. 

Our  corral  was  made  by  digging  a  trench  and  setting 
in  large  cedar  posts  on  end.  There  was  a  straw  stack  in 
the  middle  of  the  corral  where  the  boys  tried  to  sleep; 
but  the  Indians  got  so  mean  that  they  would  shoot  arrows 
in  the  bed.  This  made  it  too  dangerous  to  sleep  there. 
Sometimes  we  would  spread  our  blankets  on  the  straw 
as  if  we  were  in  bed,  and  in  the  morning  find  several 
arrows  sticking  through  them. 

A  favorite  way  of  guarding  the  corral  was  to  take  up  a 
big  picket,  or  post  on  either  side  of  the  bars,  and  have  a 
man  stand  in  its  place. 

The  Indians'  scheme  was  to  get  the  bars  down  in  some 
way,  then  stampede  the  horses,  and  run  them  off.  One 
night  Peter  Neece  and  I  were  standing  guard  in  this  way. 
He  was  on  one  side  of  the  bars  and  I  was  on  the  other. 
We  knew  that  there  were  Indians  around  by  the  way  the 
horses  in  the  corral  acted.  I  was  standing  on  the  south 
side  of  the  bars  looking  off  into  the  sagebrush,  for  I  be 
lieved  the  Indians  would  be  coming  from  that  direction, 
because  the  horses  were  looking  that  way. 

But  one  Indian,  instead  of  coming  straight  up  from  the 


152  The  White  Indian  Boy 

front,  got  close  up  to  the  fence  at  the  back  and  came  creep 
ing  around  close  to  the  corral  to  get  to  the  bars.  It 
happened  that  he  was  coming  on  my  side,  but  I  did  not 
see  him.  Neece  did,  but  he  could  not  warn  me  without 
giving  himself  away. 

He  watched  him  crawling  towards  the  bars,  and  just 
as  he  got  about  to  his  feet,  Neece  fired.  The  Indian 
gave  one  unearthly  yell  that  could  have  been  heard  for 
miles,  sprang  in  the  air  and  settled  down  where  I  had 
been  standing,  but  I  wasn't  there.  When  that  yell  was 
being  let  out,  I  turned  a  back  somersault  and  landed  a 
rod  or  more  inside  of  the  corral. 

Sometimes  at  night  when  the  horses  were  brought  in, 
we  would  saddle  one  for  each  of  us  and  keep  him  saddled 
ready  for  use  all  night.  In  the  morning  we  would  put 
the  saddle  on  fresh  horses  to  be  prepared  at  any  minute 
to  strike  out  after  the  Indians  if  it  was  necessary. 

In  the  spring,  when  Mr.  Kennedy  was  about  to  start 
with  his  horses  for  Salt  Lake,  the  herder  was  fired  on  one 
morning  as  he  was  driving  the  band  out  to  grass.  The 
Indians  then  closed  in  behind  the  horses  and  headed  them 
towards  the  hills.  Seven  of  us  immediately  started  after 
them.  I  was  on  a  lazy,  old  blue  horse,  and  could  not 
keep  up  with  the  other  boys,  but  Mr.  Kennedy  rode  a 
very  good  horse.  He  was  way  ahead  of  the  rest  of  us 
and  was  crowding  the  Indians  pretty  close.  He  would 
have  overtaken  them  in  a  few  minutes  more.  Just  before 
he  caught  up  with  them,  however,  one  Indian's  horse 
fell,  carrying  his  rider  down  with  him.  As  Kennedy 
charged  on  the  Indian  to  run  over  him,  he  received  an 
arrow  in  the  arm ;  but  the  Indian  got  a  bullet  through 
the  head  in  return.  Kennedy  had  to  wait  until  we  came 
up  to  pull  the  arrow  out  of  his  arm. 

By  that  time  the  Indians  had  the  horses  in  a  box  canyon. 


The  Pony  Express 


153 


Flnley  and  Bohlman 

A  coyote,  an  animal  often  seen  on  the  desert,  along  the  Pony  Express 
trail.     See  Mark  Twain's  description  of  the  coyote,  in  Roughing  It. 

A  few  of  the  thieves  hid  among  the  rocks  and  held  us 
back  while  the  rest  of  the  band  rushed  the  horses  up  the 
canyon.  The  canyon  led  south  a  few  hundred  yards, 
then  turned  sharply  around  a  large,  steep  mountain  and 
ran  almost  directly  north.  A  short  distance  further 
the  canyon  turned  again  and  opened  into  a  large  meadow 
about  a  mile  long. 

When  we  saw  that  we  could  not  pass  the  Indians  that 
were  ambushing  us  at  the  rocky  entrance  of  the  canyon, 
Kennedy  thought  it  would  be  best  to  go  back  two  or  three 
miles  and  cross  a  low  divide  to  get  into  it  at  the  head  of 
the  meadow.  There  the  canyon  narrowed  again.  We 
might  head  off  the  Indians  if  we  got  there  first.  We 
turned  and  went  back  about  two  and  a  half  miles  to  go 
over  this  divide.  When  we  neared  the  top  of  the  divide 
there  was  a  cliff  too  steep  to  take  our  horses  over,  so  we 


154  The  White  Indian  Boy 

tied  them  to  a  clump  of  mountain  mahogany,  and  went 
afoot.  We  could  not  go  very  fast  down  the  other  side, 
for  the  white  maple  brush  was  very  thick. 

Just  before  we  got  down  to  the  head  of  the  meadows, 
we  stopped  on  the  side  of  the  mountain  near  a  very  large 
flat-topped  rock.  Kennedy  sat  there  watching  for  the 
Indians  to  come  out  on  to  the  meadows  from  the  canyon. 
The  rest  of  us  went  down  just  below  the  rock  and  began 
to  fill  our  pockets  with  "yarb,"  or  Indian  tobacco.  While 
picking  this  "yarb,"  Frank  Mathis  laid  his  old  muzzle- 
loading  Springfield  rifle  down  in  the  bushes  where  he 
could  easily  reach  it  if  necessary. 

We  had  been  there  about  half  an  hour  when  all  at  once 
Kennedy  jumped  down  among  us  and  cried,  "Boys, 
we're  surrounded!"  In  his  excitement  Mathis  grabbed 
his  gun  by  the  muzzle  and  gave  it  a  jerk.  The  hammer 
caught  on  a  bush  and  the  gun  was  discharged,  shooting 
his  left  arm  off  between  the  shoulder  and  elbow.  That 
rattled  us  a  good  deal  so  we  hardly  knew  what  to  do 
next. 

Kennedy  thought  it  best  for  us  to  fight  our  way  back 
to  where  our  horses  were  tied.  He  started  Mathis  up 
the  hill  ahead  of  the  rest  of  us.  We  were  to  keep  the 
Indians  back  if  we  could.  We  knew  they  were  around 
us  on  every  side  for  we  could  hear  the  brush  cracking 
and  see  it  shaking  every  once  in  a  while.  When  near 
the  top,  we  came  to  a  bare  stretch  of  ground  about  two 
rods  across. 

We  stopped  at  the  edge  of  the  brush,  for  we  knew  that 
the  Indians  could  shoot  us  as  soon  as  we  got  into  the  open. 
Kennedy  thought  we  had  better  make  a  break  for  it  and 
scatter  out  as  we  ran  so  that  they  could  not  hit  us  so  easily. 
I  had  the  shortest  legs  of  all  the  men  ;  but,  just  the  same, 
I  wasn't  the  last  one  over.  When  we  were  about  half 


The  Pony  Express  155 

way  across,  the  Indians  opened  fire  with  their  bows  and 
guns.  One  bullet  struck  a  rock  right  under  my  feet.  It 
helped  me  over  the  hill  just  that  much  quicker. 

By  the  time  we  reached  the  horses,  Mathis  was  bleed 
ing  badly.  He  was  faint  and  begging  for  water.  We 
had  to  lead  our  horses  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  moun 
tain  on  account  of  the  rocks.  Kennedy  sent  Robert  Orr 
and  me  down  to  the  creek  to  get  water  in  our  hats  for 
Mathis.  When  we  got  back  with  it,  Kennedy  sent  me 
on  to  the  station  so  I  could  be  there  when  the  express 
came  and  be  ready  to  take  it  on.  That  was  the  last  I 
ever  saw  of  Frank  Mathis.  He  was  sent  on  to  Salt  Lake, 
where  he  was  cared  for  and  got  well,  but  he  got  into 
trouble  later  and  was  killed. 

About  the  time  the  Indians  were  at  their  worst  a  small 
train  of  emigrants  came  through  on  their  way  to  Cali 
fornia.  They  were  warned  by  all  of  the  station  agents 
that  it  was  not  safe  for  so  few  people  to  travel  through 
the  country  at  that  time,  and  were  advised  to  stop  until 
more  trains  came  up.  They  replied  that  they  were  well 
armed  and  could  stand  off  the  Indians  all  right. 

At  that  time  I  was  riding  from  Shell  Creek  through 
Egan  Canyon  to  Ruby  Valley.  We  who  knew  the 
Gosiute  Indians  could  tell  that  they  were  going  to  make  a 
raid.  They  were  making  signals  in  the  mountains  with 
smokes  by  day  and  fires  by  night  to  gather  their  band. 
We  knew  by  their  signs  that  the  emigrants  would  be 
attacked  as  they  were  going  through  some  of  the  bad 
canyons  on  the  route.  Egan  Canyon  was  about  the 
worst  of  these ;  it  was  a  narrow  canyon  nearly  six  miles 
long,  with  cliffs  on  each  side  from  three  hundred  to  one 
thousand  feet  high,  so  that  one  could  not  turn  to  the 
right  or  the  left  after  entering  it.  This  canyon  was  the 
dread  of  all  that  had  to  go  through  it. 


156  The  White  Indian  Boy 

The  train  of  emigrants  had  entered  this  canyon  just 
ahead  of  me.  I  rode  very  fast  to  catch  up  with  them 
before  they  got  to  the  worst  part  of  it,  but  just  before 
I  reached  them,  I  heard  the  shooting  and  I  knew  the 
Indians  had  made  an  attack.  As  I  stopped  to  listen 
two  men  came  running  for  dear  life.  They  were  bare 
headed. 

"Go  back!"  they  shouted  as  they  came  near,  "The 
whole  company  has  been  killed  but  us."  They  passed 
me  and  ran  on. 

After  a  little  while  I  could  hear  no  more  shooting,  so 
I  went  on  cautiously,  looking  ahead  and  around  at  every 
turn  of  the  road.  Soon  I  came  in  sight  of  the  wagons. 
I  made  sure  the  Indians  had  gone  before  I  went  up  to 
them. 

Such  a  terrible  sight  I  never  saw  before.  Every  man, 
woman,  and  child  except  the  two  that  escaped  had  been 
cruelly  murdered.  Only  one  woman  had  any  life  left 
when  I  got  there  and  she  died  a  moment  later.  I  looked 
around  carefully  to  see  whether  any  others  were  alive, 
but  finding  none  I  rode  on.  I  could  not  stand  to  look 
long  on  the  dreadful  scene.  The  Indians  had  cut  the 
tugs  of  the  harnesses  and  taken  every  horse  and  mule  in 
the  train.  When  I  got  out  of  the  canyon,  and  saw  where 
the  murderous  band  had  turned  off  the  road,  I  did  not 
spare  my  horse  until  I  reached  the  next  station.  The 
keeper  there  immediately  sent  a  messenger  to  Ruby 
Valley  where  the  soldiers  were  and  they  came  and  buried 
the  unfortunate  emigrants. 


"  I  told  Johnson  to  have  his  shooting-irons  ready." 

CHAPTER  NINETEEN 

JOHNSTON   PUNISHES   THE   INDIANS 

THE  Indians  became  so  troublesome  that  the  soldiers  from 
Camp  Floyd  were  called  out  to  stop  their  dreadful  work. 
I  got  a  letter  from  Major  Egan  directing  me  to  meet  him 
at  Camp  Floyd  as  soon  as  I  could  get  there,  for  they 
wanted  me  to  act  as  interpreter  and  guide  for  the  soldiers. 
I  started  at  once  and  made  two  hundred  miles  in  three 
days.  When  I  reached  Camp  Floyd,  General  Albert 
Sidney  Johnston  was  all  ready  to  start  out  against  the 
Indians  with  four  companies  of  soldiers.  We  traveled 
west,  and  crossed  the  Great  American  Desert  in  the  night, 
so  as  not  to  be  seen  by  the  Indians. 

The  soldiers  stayed  at  Fish  Springs  and  sent  me  out  with 
three  other  scouts  to  see  if  we  could  find  any  signs  of  the 
Indians  we  were  after.  We  took  only  two  days'  rations 
with  us.  The  first  day  we  met  with  no  success,  so  the  next 
morning  we  separated.  I  sent  two  of  the  scouts  to  circle 
around  to  the  south,  and  took  with  me  a  young  man  by  the 
name  of  Johnson,  and  went  northwest.  That  afternoon 
we  saw  two  Indians  crossing  a  valley.  We  kept  out  of 

157 


158  The  White  Indian  Boy 

sight  but  followed  them  until  night,  and  saw  them  go  into 
a  small  bunch  of  cedars.  We  left  our  horses  and  slipped 
up  as  close  to  them  as  we  could  without  letting  them 
see  us. 

When  we  got  pretty  near  to  them,  I  recognized  in  one 
of  the  Indians  my  old  friend  Yaiabi ;  but  not  feeling  sure 
that  he  would  be  glad  to  see  me,  I  told  Johnson  to  have 
his  "  shooting-irons  " 1  ready  and  I  would  go  up  to  them 
and  see  what  they  would  do.  As  soon  as  they  saw  me  com 
ing  they  jumped  up  and  drew  their  bows.  I  began  to  talk 
to  them  in  their  language.  Yaiabi  did  not  recognize  me 
at  first,  and  demanded  to  know  what  I  was  doing  there. 
I  told  him  I  wanted  water.  He  said  there  was  no  water 
except  a  very  little  they  had  brought  with  them.  They 
asked  me  if  I  was  alone.  I  told  them  that  another  young 
man  was  with  me,  then  I  called  to  Johnson  to  come  up. 

After  Yaiabi  found  out  who  I  was  he  felt  better,  for  they 
were  very  uneasy  at  first.  When  I  asked  him  how  he  came 
to  be  there,  he  said  they  had  been  out  to  a  little  lake  to 
see  some  Parowan  Indians  that  were  camped  there.  I 
asked  him  what  the  Indians  were  doing  there.  He  said 
they  were  waiting  for  some  more  of  the  Pocatello  Indians 
to  come,  and  as  soon  as  they  arrived  they  were  going  to 
burn  all  the  stations  and  kill  all  of  the  riders  and  station 
keepers. 

"Are  you  going  with  them?"  I  asked. 

"No." 

"Why  then  have  you  been  with  those  Indians?" 

He  said  that  the  Parowan  Indians  had  stolen  his 
sister's  little  boy  two  years  before,  and  he  went  out  to 
see  if  he  could  find  the  child. 

"Did  you  find  it?" 

"No,"  he  said,  "they  have  sold  it  to  the  white  folks." 
1  Revolvers  or  guns. 


Johnston  Punishes  the  Indians  159 

"Do  you  know  when  the  Indians  they  are  looking  for 
will  be  there?" 

"One  sleep,"  1  he  said. 

I  knew  it  was  a  big  day's  ride  back  to  where  the  Indians 
were  gathering  and  I  knew  it  was  a  hard  day's  ride  to  the 
place  where  the  soldiers  were  camped.  I  did  not  know 
what  was  best  for  me  to  do.  I  had  these  two  Indians 
and  I  did  not  want  to  let  them  go,  for  I  was  afraid  they 
would  skip  back  and  let  the  others  know  that  the  soldiers 
were  after  them. 

Here  we  were  a  big  day's  ride  to  water,  and  our  horses 
had  had  none  since  early  morning,  so  I  decided  that  it 
would  be  better  to  take  the  Indians  to  headquarters  and 
let  General  Johnston  decide  what  to  do.  I  told  Yaiabi 
my  plans.  He  said  he  did  not  want  to  go  to  the  soldiers, 
for  he  was  afraid  of  them.  I  told  him  I  would  see  that 
the  soldiers  did  him  no  harm.  He  said,  "Yagaiki,  you 
have  known  me  ever  since  you  were  a  little  boy,  and  you 
never  knew  of  my  doing  anything  bad  in  your  life."  I 
told  him  I  knew  that  he  had  always  been  a  good  Indian, 
"but  now  you  know  that  the  soldiers  are  after  those  bad 
Indians  and  intend  to  kill  the  last  one  of  them,  and  if  I 
let  you  go,  you  will  go  to  them  and  tell  them  that  the 
soldiers  are  after  them.  Then  if  General  Johnston  should 
find  out  what  I  had  done  he  would  think  I  stood  in  with  the 
Indians  and  would  have  me  shot ;  so,  you  see,  you  must 
go  with  us  to  the  soldiers'  camp." 

The  Indian  that  was  with  Yaiabi  said  he  would  not  go 
to  the  soldiers'  camp.  He  started  to  get  his  bow,  but  I 
had  my  pistol  on  him  in  a  jiffy,  and  told  him  to  stop.  He 
stopped,  and  I  kept  him  there  while  Johnson  gathered  up 
their  bows  and  arrows.  When  I  told  them  to  get  ready  to 
start,  Yaiabi  said  they  were  tired  and  would  like  to  stay 
1  One  night. 


160  The  White  Indian  Boy 

there  until  morning,  but  I  said  that  our  horses  were  so 
thirsty,  we  had  better  travel  in  the  cool  of  the  night  or  we 
should  not  be  able  to  get  them  to  camp,  so  we  set  out  for 
Fish  Springs. 

I  told  Johnson  to  tie  the  bows  and  arrows  to  his  saddle 
and  to  keep  a  close  watch  over  them;  Yaiabi  mounted 
my  horse  while  I  walked  and  led  the  horse.  When  I  got 
tired  of  walking,  I  changed  places  with  Yaiabi,  and  then 
young  Johnson  walked  and  let  the  other  Indian  ride  his 
horse.  In  this  way  we  traveled  until  morning.  When 
daylight  came,  I  gave  the  bows  and  arrows  to  young 
Johnson  and  told  him  to  go  to  General  Johnston's  camp  as 
soon  as  possible  and  send  us  fresh  horses  and  some  water. 
In  about  six  hours  he  came  back  to  us,  accompanied  by  two 
soldiers  with  some  water  and  two  extra  horses  for  the 
Indians  to  ride.  By  traveling  pretty  fast,  we  reached 
camp  at  one  o'clock  that  day. 

General  Johnston  was  very  much  pleased  with  me  for 
bringing  the  two  Indians  in.  At  the  sight  of  so  many 
soldiers  the  Indians  were  very  uneasy,  but  after  they  had 
been  given  something  to  eat  and  saw  that  they  were  not 
going  to  be  hurt,  they  felt  much  better. 

The  General  talked  with  the  Indians  for  about  an  hour, 
and  I  acted  as  interpreter.  Yaiabi  told  him  just  how  the 
big  camp  of  Indians  was  located,  and  said  there  were 
about  three  hundred  warriors  there  then ;  they  were 
looking  for  about  fifty  more  to  join  them  that  night,  and 
as  soon  as  they  could  complete  their  plans  they  were 
going  to  burn  the  stations  and  kill  all  the  white  men  they 
could  find.  He  thought  they  would  be  ready  in  about  five 
days  to  begin  their  bloody  work. 

The  General  liked  the  way  Yaiabi  talked.  He  called 
him  a  good  Indian,  and  said  he  believed  he  was  telling  the 
truth.  I  told  Yaiabi  what  the  general  said.  General 


Johnston  Punishes  the  Indians  161 


Howard  R.  Driggs 

Ruins  of  barracks  at  Camp  Floyd,  Utah ;  an  army  post  established  by 
Colonel  Albert  Sidney  Johnston ;  also  a  home  station  for  Pony  Express 
and  Overland  Stage. 

Johnston  told  me  to  get  a  little  rest,  for  he  wanted  me  to 
start  out  again  that  night  if  I  would.  I  lay  down  and  had 
a  little  sleep,  and  when  I  got  up  he  told  me  that  I  was  to 
go  to  the  lake  and  see  if  Yaiabi  had  told  the  truth ;  and 
if  everything  was  all  right,  to  send  back  word  as  soon  as  I 
could  by  one  of  the  scouts  that  he  would  send  with  me. 
He  told  me  to  do  all  my  traveling  at  night  and  keep  under 
cover  in  the  daytime,  and  to  meet  him  as  soon  as  I  could 
at  a  spring  about  half  way  between  where  we  were  and  the 
Indians.  Then  on  the  following  night  he  would  move  his 
soldiers  to  another  spring  which  Yaiabi  had  told  about, 
and  which  was  within  six  miles  of  the  lake  where  the 
Indians  were  gathering. 

After  dark,  three  of  us  started  with  four  days'  rations. 
I  rode  the  little  pinto  pony  on  this  trip,  the  first  I  had 
ridden  him  for  a  long  time.  We  traveled  all  night  and 
reached  the  first  spring  just  at  daybreak.  I  knew  it  would 
be  a  hard  night's  ride  to  go  from  here  to  the  lake  and  then 
reach  Yaiabi's  spring  in  the  mountains  before  daylight. 


162  The  White  Indian  Boy 

About  midnight  we  arrived  at  the  north  end  of  the  lake, 
which  was  only  a  mile  and  a  half  long  and  half  a  mile  wide. 
I  had  my  two  scouts  stop  there  while  I  wrapped  a  red 
blanket  around  me  and  went  on  foot  to  find  out  what  I 
could  about  the  Indian  camp.  I  had  gone  only  a  few  steps 
when  I  came  to  a  band  of  horses,  and  as  I  was  passing 
around  them  I  heard  an  Indian  speak  to  a  horse  he  was 
hobbling.  I  went  up  and  asked  him  in  Shoshone  if  he  had 
come  with  the  Pocatello  Indians.  He  said  he  had,  and 
that  seventeen  others  came  with  him. 

"We  will  start  burning  the  stations,  then,  soon,"  I 
said. 

"Were  you  at  the  council  tonight?"  he  asked.  I  told 
him  I  was  not  at  the  council,  that  I  had  been  following 
a  horse  that  had  started  back.  He  said  that  at  the 
council  it  was  decided  that  the  Parowans  were  to  go  to 
Ruby  Valley  and  burn  and  kill  everything  they  came  to ; 
and  that  the  Pocatello  Indians  and  Gosiutes  were  to  start 
at  Ibapah  and  burn  towards  the  east.  I  asked  him  when 
we  were  to  start  from  there.  He  said,  "In  four  days." 
We  were  walking  towards  their  camp  as  we  talked,  so  as 
soon  as  I  found  out  all  I  wanted  to  know,  I  said  that  I 
had  forgotten  my  rope  and  would  have  to  go  back  for  it. 
So  I  parted  company  with  my  Indian  friend.  He  was  a 
Shoshone,  and  he  thought  I  was  another.  When  I  got 
out  of  his  sight,  I  wasn't  long  getting  back  to  where  I  had 
left  the  boys,  and  in  a  very  short  time  one  of  them  was 
carrying  the  news  to  the  army. 

The  other  scout  and  I  went  to  find  the  spring  Yaiabi  had 
told  me  about.  We  got  well  into  the  mountains  before 
daylight,  and  when  it  was  light  enough  to  see,  we  found 
the  spring  up  a  very  rough  canyon.  We  staked  our 
horses  so  they  could  get  plenty  to  eat  and  then  crawled 
off  into  the  willows  for  a  good  nap. 


Johnston  Punishes  the  Indians  163 

That  afternoon  I  climbed  a  high  mountain  near  by  to 
see  which  would  be  the  best  way  to  go  from  there  to  the 
Indians'  camp  in  the  night.  After  I  had  studied  the  lay 
of  the  country  pretty  well,  I  went  back  to  the  horses,  ate 
a  little  cold  lunch,  and  when  it  commenced  to  get  dark, 
we  struck  out  to  meet  General  Johnston  at  the  appointed 
place. 

We  did  not  travel  very  fast,  for  I  knew  we  would  reach 
the  place  before  the  soldiers  could  get  there.  We  were 
at  the  spring  about  two  hours  before  daylight,  and  had  a 
good  nap  before  General  Johnston  came.  When  he  got 
to  us  he  wanted  to  know  if  I  thought  it  safe  to  make  a  fire 
to  boil  some  coffee.  I  told  him  I  thought  there  was  no 
danger,  so  we  made  a  small  fire,  and  had  a  good  cup  of 
coffee,  then  we  all  lay  down  for  a  little  nap. 

About  sundown,  the  packers  began  loading  the  hundred 
pack  mules  we  had  with  us,  and  we  got  started  just  about 
dark  for  the  Yaiabi  spring,  which  was  about  six  miles  north 
of  the  Indians'  camp.  We  reached  the  spring  in  good  time, 
and  were  all  unpacked  before  dawn. 

After  breakfast,  General  Johnston  and  I  went  up  on  to 
the  mountain  so  that  he  could  see  the  Indian  camp.  He 
had  a  good  pair  of  field  glasses  and  could  see  everything 
very  plainly.  He  asked  if  I  knew  anything  about  that 
bunch  of  willows  he  could  see  a  little  to  the  west  of  their 
camp.  I  told  him  I  knew  it  very  well,  for  when  the  ex 
press  first  started  it  came  this  way,  and  we  had  a  station 
right  where  the  Indian  camp  is  now,  so  I  had  been  there 
many  times.  He  said,  "Then  you  can  take  me  to  it  in 
the  night?"  I  told  him  I  could,  and  pointed  out  to  him 
the  way  we  would  have  to  go.  He  told  me  he  wanted  to 
make  the  attack  the  next  morning  at  daybreak.  We 
went  back  to  camp,  and  found  all  the  soldiers  asleep, 
except  the  guard ;  and  in  a  very  short  time  we  were  rolled 


164  The  White  Indian  Boy 

in  our  blankets  and  dreaming  of  the  time  when  all  the 
Indians  would  be  good  Indians. 

When  I  awoke  that  afternoon,  I  saw  General  Johnston 
and  his  staff  going  up  the  mountain  to  where  we  had  been 
that  morning.  They  got  back  to  camp  just  before  sun 
down,  and  held  a  hasty  council  with  the  remainder  of  the 
officers ;  then  orders  were  given  to  pack  up,  and  we  got 
in  line  just  at  dark.  I  told  General  Johnston  he  would 
have  to  take  his  men  down  this  canyon  in  single  file,  and 
in  some  places  we  would  have  to  travel  along  the  side  of 
the  mountain  over  very  narrow  trails;  that  we  would 
have  to  climb  above  high  cliffs,  and  pass  through  some 
very  dangerous  places.  He  said  that  I  was  to  go  ahead, 
and,  when  I  came  to  the  bad  places,  to  dismount  and  they 
would  follow  suit.  We  had  about  two  miles  to  go  before 
we  would  come  to  the  bad  places,  and  when  I  got  off  the 
next  man  would  get  off  and  so  on  down  the  line.  By 
doing  this,  we  got  down  the  canyon  very  well,  except 
that  three  of  our  pack  mules  rolled  over  a  cliff  and  were 
killed. 

The  head  of  the  company  got  out  of  the  canyon  about 
eleven  o'clock  that  night.  We  were  within  six  or  seven 
hundred  yards  of  the  Indian  camp,  for  the  lake  lay  almost 
at  the  foot  of  the  mountains.  As  the  soldiers  came  down 
they  formed  into  lines,  and  General  Johnston  and  I 
started  to  find  the  bunch  of  willows  we  had  seen  from  the 
top  of  the  mountain.  We  soon  found  it,  and  went  back 
to  the  soldiers.  The  general  said  that  was  all  he  wanted 
with  me  until  after  the  fight,  and  told  me  to  take  care  of 
the  two  Indians  we  had  with  us.  So  I  got  Yaiabi  and  his 
friend,  and  we  climbed  a  small  hill  not  far  away,  where 
we  could  see  the  fight  when  it  commenced. 

The  soldiers  didn't  all  get  out  of  the  canyon  until  about 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  the  pack  train  was  not 


Johnston  Punishes  the  Indians  165 

all  out  when  daylight  came.     In  the  meantime,  General 
Johnston  had  strung  the  soldiers  around  the  Indian  camp. 

Just  as  day  was  breaking,  an  old  Indian  chief  started  a 
fire  in  front  of  his  tepee,  and  was  standing  there  call 
ing  to  some  of  the  other  Indians,  when  a  soldier  shot  him 
without  orders.  Then  the  fight  commenced.  How  the 
guns  did  rattle !  It  was  almost  too  dark  at  first  for  me  to 
see  much  of  the  fight,  but  it  was  getting  lighter  all  the  time. 
As  we  were  coming  down  the  canyon  that  night,  the 
General  gave  me  his  field  glasses  to  carry  for  him  and  I 
still  had  them. 

Along  the  edge  of  the  lake  grew  a  lot  of  bulrushes. 
Soon  after  the  firing  began,  I  could  see  the  papooses  run 
ning  into  these  rushes  and  hiding.  From  the  volleys  that 
were  fired  it  got  so  smoky  that  I  could  not  see  very  plainly, 
but  the  shooting  soon  stopped,  and  as  the  smoke  rose, 
I  could  see  everything  that  was  going  on.  By  this  time 
they  were  in  a  terrible  mixup,  and  were  fighting  fiercely, 
the  soldiers  with  their  bayonets  and  sabers,  and  the 
Indians  with  their  clubs,  axes,  and  knives.  I  could  see 
little  children  not  over  five  or  six  years  old  with  sticks 
fighting  like  wildcats.  I  saw  a  soldier  and  an  Indian  that 
had  clinched  in  a  death  struggle.  They  had  each  other  by 
the  hair  of  the  head,  and  I  saw  a  squaw  run  up  to  them  with 
an  ax  and  strike  the  soldier  in  the  back  and  he  sank  to  the 
ground,  then  she  split  his  head  with  the  ax.  While  she 
was  doing  this,  a  soldier  ran  a  bayonet  through  her,  and 
that  is  the  way  it  was  going  over  the  whole  battle  ground. 
And  what  a  noise  they  made !  with  the  kids  squalling, 
the  squaws  yelling,  the  bucks  yelping,  the  dogs  barking, 
and  the  officers  giving  their  orders  to  the  soldiers. 

This  was  the  worst  battle  and  the  last  one  that  I  ever 
saw.  It  lasted  about  two  hours,  and  during  that  short 
period  of  time,  every  Indian,  squaw,  and  papoose,  and 


166  The  White  Indian  Boy 

every  dog  was  killed.  After  the  battle,  I  was  sent  to 
bring  up  the  baggage  wagons  to  haul  our  wounded  to  Camp 
Floyd. 

As  we  were  on  our  way  back  to  Camp  Floyd  with  the 
wounded,  and  were  passing  through  a  rocky  canyon,  we 
were  fired  at  by  some  straggling  Indian,  and  I  was  shot 
through  my  left  arm  about  half  way  between  the  wrist  and 
elbow.  The  same  bullet  that  went  through  my  arm  killed 
a  soldier  at  my  side.  The  one  shot  was  all  we  heard, 
and  we  did  not  even  see  the  one  who  fired  it.  I  have 
sometimes  wondered  if  that  bullet  was  not  sent  especially 
for  me. 

That  spring  the  great  war  between  the  North  and  the 
South  broke  out,  and  General  Johnston  sold  all  of  the 
government  cattle  and  wagons  very  cheap,  and  went 
back  East  with  his  pack  mules.  I  bought  a  yoke  of  oxen 
for  eighteen  dollars  and  a  new  wagon  for  ten.  There 
must  have  been  as  many  as  ten  thousand  oxen  bought  at 
from  twenty-five  to  fifty  dollars  a  yoke.  That  summer 
the  gold  mines  were  opened  in  Montana  and  everything 
had  to  be  hauled  with  ox  teams,  and  the  same  oxen  we 
had  bought  for  eighteen  dollars  were  worth  from  one 
hundred  and  fifty  to  two  hundred  dollars  a  yoke.  The 
poor  people  that  had  been  living  on  greens  and  "lumpy 
dick  "  for  two  or  three  years  now  began  to  get  very  wealthy 
and  proud.  The  young  ladies  began  to  wear  calico 
dresses,  and  I  even  saw  young  men  who  could  afford  to 
wear  calico  shirts  and  soldiers'  blue  overcoats  and  smoke 
store  tobacco. 


-     F      X.-    Y.1U    S 


I  kept  on  swinging  through  the  deserts  ...  in  the  '  boot '  of  the 
Concord  stage." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 

THE    OVERLAND    STAGE 

JUST  before  the  soldiers  left  Camp  Floyd,  the  Overland 
Stage  line  was  opened  from  St.  Joseph,  Missouri,  to  Sacra 
mento,  California.  Shortly  afterward  the  telegraph  line 
was  completed  across  the  continent.  This  ended  the  work 
of  the  Pony  Express.  Instead  of  the  pony  riders  dashing 
on  their  wiry  horses  over  prairies  and  mountain  and 
desert,  now  came  the  stage  drivers  with  their  sturdy 
horses,  four  or  six-in-hand,  rolling  along  in  their  great  Con 
cord  coaches,  loaded  with  passengers,  mail,  and  express. 

The  stations,  as  before,  were  scattered  along  the  trail 
from  eight  to  sixteen  miles  apart,  according  to  the  water. 
These  stations  were  mainly  low  dirt-roofed  structures, 
built  of  logs  or  adobe  or  rock.  After  Johnston's  army 
had  decamped,  the  lumber  left  by  them  at  Camp  Floyd 
was  used  for  some  stations.  They  were  large  enough  to 
accommodate  six  to  eight  horses,  and  had,  partitioned 
from  the  stalls,  one  room  for  the  stable  keepers  and  an 
other  for  provisions.  Grain  was  hauled  to  them  from  the 

167 


168 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


fields  of  Utah  and  California.  Native  hay  was  supplied 
from  the  grassy  valleys  through  which  the  route  lay. 
Traveling  blacksmiths  kept  the  horses  shod,  and  the 
stages  in  repair. 

As  a  few  of  the  stations  had  to  be  built  where  there  was 
no  spring  or  stream,  it  was  necessary  to  haul  water  to 
them.  This  was  my  first  work  in  connection  with  the 
Overland  Stage.  I  had  a  good  four-horse  team  and  was 
given  the  job  of  supplying  Canyon  station  with  water. 

One  day  while  I  was  unloading  the  water  the  stage  came 
into  this  station.  Major  Howard  Egan,  who  had  charge 
of  this  division  of  the  route,  had  the  lines.  The  stage 
driver  lay  dead  in  "the  boot"  and  one  passenger  was 
wounded.  They  had  been  shot  by  stage  robbers,  or 
"road  agents,"  as  we  called  them.  Another  driver  must 
be  had.  The  station  keepers  said  they  couldn't  drive 
four  horses,  so  Major  Egan  called  on  me.  I  hadn't  had 
any  experience  handling  the  stage,  but  I  tried  it.  The 
Major  seemed  to  think  I  drove  all  right,  for  he  didn't 
send  any  man  to  relieve  me  as  he  promised  to  do,  so  I 
kept  on  driving.  Finally  I  sold  my  team  and  water  out- 


An  overland  stage  ready  for  a  trip. 


The  Overland  Stage  169 

fit  and  became  a  regular  stage  driver.  For  about  two 
years  I  kept  on  swinging  over  the  rough  and  heavy  roads 
through  the  deserts  of  Nevada  in  the  "boot"  of  the 
Concord  stage. 

The  "boot"  was  the  place  where  the  driver  sat  perched 
in  front.  It  was  big  enough  to  hold  two  passengers  be 
sides  the  driver ;  and  a  thousand  pounds  or  more  of  mail 
could  be  packed  in  the  "boot"  also.  Behind  this  was  the 
body  of  the  coach,  big  enough  to  hold  six  passengers. 
They  sat  three  on  each  seat,  facing  each  other.  It  was 
hard  on  those  not  used  to  it  to  sit  day  and  night  through 
clouds  of  alkali  dust  or  sand,  through  rain  and  slush,  or 
snow  and  cold,  cramped  up  in  that  stage.  If  we  had  to 
crowd  more  than  six  in,  as  we  did  occasionally,  it  was 
rather  rough  riding.  When  few  passengers  were  along,  or 
the  mail  was  lighter,  we  made  up  our  load  with  grain  or 
other  provisions  to  be  distributed  along  at  the  various 
stations.  So  we  were  nearly  always  well  loaded.  Often 
we  carried  more  than  a  ton  of  mail  in  the  "boot,"  and 
strapped  on  the  back  platform. 

Some  pictures  I  have  seen  of  the  Overland  Stage  have 
passengers  on  top.  This  is  a  mistake.  There  was  no 
place  on  the  rounded  top  for  passengers.  Some  of  the 
boys  occasionally  lashed  packages  there.  The  passen 
gers  would  have  had  to  be  strapped  on  too,  if  they  had 
tried  the  top,  for  they  would  have  got  pitched  off  in  a 
hurry,  the  stage  rocked  so.  The  body  of  the  stage  was 
hung  on  great  leather  springs,  and  it  swung  with  a  kind  of 
cradle  motion  as  we  dashed  along.  When  a  fellow  learned 
how  to  swing  with  it,  things  went  all  right ;  if  he  didn't, 
it  was  hard  riding. 

The  road  was  not  only  rough  and  wearisome;  it  was 
dangerous.  For  a  time  the  Indians  were  so  troublesome 
that  a  soldier  was  sent  with  every  stage.  We  should  have 


170 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


Two  Gosiute  braves  of  Overland  Stage 
days. 


felt  safer  without  these 
soldiers  though,  for  we 
knew  how  the  Indians 
hated  soldiers.  The 
worst  danger,  however, 
was  not  from  Indians; 
they  got  lots  of  blame 
that  didn't  belong  to 
them.  1 1  was  the ' '  road 
agents"  that  infested 
the  country  during  those 
days  that  gave  us  most 
trouble. 

Many   a   time   these 
desperadoes  would  hold 

up  the  stage  on  some  lonely  place  on  the  road.  They  would 
spring  out  before  the  horses  and  order  the  driver  to  stop, 
or  would  shoot  down  a  horse  to  stop  the  stage ;  then  after 
robbing  the  passengers  and  rifling  the  mail  bags  of  their 
valuables,  they  would  dash  away  with  their  plunder  to  their 
hiding  places  in  the  hills. 

Some  drivers,  when  these  outlaws  came  upon  them, 
would  put  the  whip  to  their  horses  and  try  to  dash  by 
them  to  safety.  At  times  the  boys  managed  to  give  the 
robbers  the  slip,  but  oftener  the  driver  would  be  shot 
down  in  the  attempt  to  escape.  Then  the  horses,  mad 
with  fright,  if  no  passenger  was  aboard  to  grab  the  lines, 
would  run  away,  upset  the  coach,  perhaps,  and  string 
things  along  the  trail  in  great  shape.  Sometimes  they 
have  dashed  into  a  station  with  nothing  but  the  front 
wheels  dragging  behind  them. 

I  was  lucky  enough  to  escape  such  mishaps.  The  rob 
bers  never  held  me  up ;  but  one  day  I  did  have  one  of  my 
wheel  horses  shot  down,  by  some  skulking  desperado  or 


The  Overland  Stage 


171 


Indian,  we  never  knew  which.  I  was  swinging  along  a 
dugway  down  hill  about  two  miles  west  of  Canyon  station 
when  it  happened.  Three  passengers  —  two  men  and  a 
woman  —  were  in  the  stage.  A  shot  rang  out  and  my 
off  wheel  horse  dropped  dead. 

I  flung  off  the  brake,  knowing  what  was  up,  cracked  my 
whip  and  away  we  went  plunging  down  the  hill,  dragging 
the  dead  horse  with  us  till  I  thought  we  were  out  of  gunshot. 
No  more  shots  came,  so  I  stopped  the  team,  jumped  down 
and  began  to  unhitch.  The  man  inside  the  coach  jumped 
out  too,  but  instead  of  helping 
me,  he  grabbed  the  whip  and 
begun  to  lash  the  team,  yelling 
to  me  to  go  on.  He  was  so 
scared  he  acted  like  a  crazy 
man  till  his  wife  jumped  out, 
grabbed  the  whip  from  his 
hand,  and  told  him  to  behave 
himself.  Then  he  cooled  down 
a  little ;  and  with  the  help  of 
the  other  passenger,  I  got  the 
dead  horse  out  of  the  harness, 
hitched  one  of  the  leaders  in 
his  place,  and  drove  on  to  the 
next  station,  without  any  more 
trouble.  I  never  found  out 
who  did  that  devilish  trick,  but 
I  don't  believe  it  was  stage 
robbers,  though,  for  they  would 
have  followed  us  up  and  fin 
ished  their  mischief.  Other 

drivers,  however,  Were  not  SO      Antelope  Jake,  an  aged  Gosiute 

lucky.     Three  different  times     J n1fian  who  won  his  name  by 

»»   .         T^,  i  ,  killing   antelope   for  Overland 

Major   Lgan  brought  m  the     stage  stations. 


172 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


stage  with  the  driver  dead  in  the  boot  and  the  stage  shot 
full  of  holes.  At  one  time  a  driver  who  had  been  wounded 
by  outlaws  was  loaded  into  my  stage.  We  were  trying  to 
get  him  through  to  Salt  Lake,  but  the  poor  fellow  died 
while  he  was  with  me.  No  other  passenger  was  along  at 
the  time.  I  couldn't  help  the  sufferer  much.  It  was  a 
terrible  experience,  I  tell  you,  for  him  and  me  too,  that 
long  night  on  the  lonely  Nevada  desert. 

Afterwards  I  was  changed  to  another  division,  driving 
in  Nevada  from  Austin  to  Sand  Wells.  Jim  Clift  was 
division  agent  here.  It  was  a  heavy  road,  —  full  of  sand ; 
but  it  wasn't  so  hard  and  heavy  as  another  stretch  that 
Ben  Halliday,  our  big  chief,  gave  me  later.  When  he 
heard  I  was  careful  with  the  horses,  that  I  didn't  use 
them  up  as  did  some  of  the  drivers  they  brought  in  from 
the  East,  who  didn't  know  mountain  life,  he  set  me  to 
driving  from  the  Sink  of  Carson  to  Fort  Churchill.  I 
drove  there  that  summer  and  winter  and  the  next  spring 


Antelope  on  the  desert. 


Pictures  of  this  kind  were  often  seen  by  Pony 
Express  riders. 


The  Overland  Stage 


173 


Howard  R.  Driggs 
Old  stage  station  at  Fort  Hall  or  Ross's  Fork,  Idaho. 

I  was  sent  to  drive  from  Carson  City  to  Virginia  City, 
Nevada. 

I  arrived  at  Carson  City  about  ten  o'clock  one  very 
fine  morning  in  June.  The  mail  agent  met  me  just  as  I 
entered  the  town,  and  told  me  to  drive  to  Tim  Smith's 
big  rock  stable  and  put  up  my  horses.  He  told  me  that 
the  line  I  was  driving  on  was  in  dispute,  and  he  would 
have  to  go  to  Salt  Lake  City  to  see  who  had  the  right  of 
way.  "Stay  here  until  you  hear  from  me,"  he  said,  "and 
board  in  that  hotel  across  the  street."  With  that  he 
left  me  alone,  seven  hundred  miles  from  home  and  among 
strangers.  If  he  had  left  me  in  an  Indian  camp,  I  should 
have  felt  all  right ;  but  to  be  left  away  out  here  among  a 
lot  of  strange  white  folks  was  more  than  I  could  bear. 

I  put  my  horses  up,  and  while  I  was  sitting  out  by  the 
side  of  the  stable,  I  saw  a  man  come  out  of  the  hotel.  He 
had  on  a  white  cap,  and  a  white  apron  that  reached  from 
his  chin  to  his  feet.  In  each  hand  he  had  a  big,  round, 
brass  thing.  He  pounded  these  together  and  made  a 
fearful  racket.  I  had  never  seen  a  hotel  before,  to  say 


174  The  White  Indian  Boy 

nothing  of  being  in  one,  and  as  the  men  that  worked  in 
the  barn  came  rushing  past  me,  I  asked  one  of  them  what 
was  up.  "Dinner,"  he  said.  I  got  up  and  went  over  to 
the  hotel,  and  when  I  went  in,  I  never  saw  such  a  sight 
before.  They  had  tables  all  over  the  house,  and  people 
were  rushing  in  and  sitting  down  to  them. 

I  slipped  in  and  took  off  my  hat  and  stood  by  the  side  of 
the  door  waiting  for  some  one  to  come  up  and  ask  me  to 
sit  down  at  a  table,  but  nobody  came.  I  stood  there 
a  while  longer,  and  saw  others  come  in  and  sit  down  at 
the  tables  without  being  asked,  so  I  went  sneaking  up  to 
a  table  and  stood  there,  and  as  nobody  asked  me  to  sit 
down,  I  sat  down  anyhow.  A  waiter  came  up  and  began 
to  mutter  something  to  me.  I  asked,  "What?"  He  got 
it  off  again.  I  told  him  that  I  did  not  know  what  he  said, 
so  he  went  out  and  brought  me  something  to  eat.  I  went 
over  to  the  stable  and  sat  down,  and  then  I  began  think 
ing  of  home.  I  didn't  go  back  to  the  hotel  that  night  for 
any  supper,  and  when  I  went  to  bed,  the  fleas  were  so  bad 
I  didn't  sleep  a  wink  that  night,  and  when  morning  came 
I  was  hungry,  sleepy,  tired,  and  homesick. 

Next  morning  I  met  one  of  the  stable  men.  He  asked 
me  if  I  had  been  to  breakfast.  I  told  him  I  had  not. 
"  Come  right  on  in,"  he  said,  taking  me  by  the  arm.  The 
waiter  came  up  and  got  off  the  same  thing  that  he  said 
the  day  before,  and  the  man  that  was  with  me  told  him  to 
fetch  it  along.  I  told  the  waiter  to  bring  me  the  same. 
Well,  I  ate  two  or  three  breakfasts  that  morning  to  make 
up.  Then  I  felt  much  better. 

After  breakfast  we  went  back  to  the  stable,  and  pretty 
soon  Tim  Smith  came  in  and  said,  "Young  man,  it  may 
be  three  weeks  before  the  right  of  way  is  settled,  but  if 
you  want  to  go  to  work  in  the  stable  I  will  give  you  three 
dollars  a  day."  I  agreed  and  began  to  work.  Tim  Smith 


The  Overland  Stage 


175 


was  a  one-armed  man,  and  he  had  fourteen  hostlers  and  a 
clerk  that  worked  in  the  stable.  The  office  was  in  one 
corner  of  the  stable  and  a  young  man  by  the  name  of 
Billy  Green  was  the  clerk.  He  had  charge  of  the  men  and 
was  very  kind  and  good  to  me. 

I  was  afraid  to  go  out  at  night,  so  I  stayed  in  the  stable 
and  helped  Billy.  It  was  a  very  large  stable,  holding  over 
one  hundred  horses,  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  work  to 
do  after  dark. 

At  that  time  Virginia  City  was  booming.  Two  or  three 
men  were  killed  every  day.  I  had  not  driven  here  very 
long  before  I  saw  a  man  hanged  at  what  they  called  the 
Golden  Gate.  I  don't  remember  what  he  had  done,  but 
I  saw  him  hanged,  anyway. 

Those  were  rough,  wild  days,  and  this  was  one  of  the 
roughest  spots  in  the  savage  West.  I  was  glad  enough 
to  leave  it.  After  a  few  months  of  staging  here,  I  quit 
the  job  and  returned  home. 


Spring  at  Rockwell's  stage  station,  Salt  Lake  County,  Utah. 


"  All  of  us  but  the  driver  would  walk  ahead  of  the  team.1 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 

A    TERRIBLE   JOURNEY 

WHEN  I  returned  from  Nevada  to  Utah,  I  found  that 
mother  had  moved  to  Cache  Valley,  so  I  went  up  there 
and  stayed  all  winter  with  her.  It  proved  to  be  a  very 
sad  winter  for  me,  though  it  began  very  happily.  I  found 
here  my  first  sweetheart,  a  beautiful  girl,  who  made  me 
love  her  very  dearly  by  her  sweet  ways  and  her  kind 
heart;  for  she  helped  my  mother  nurse  me  through  a 
dangerous  illness. 

We  had  spent  the  time  delightfully  for  about  a  month, 
when  I  got  hurt.  My  horse,  which  I  was  riding  one  day 
very  fast,  struck  some  ice,  slipped  and  fell,  throwing  me 
to  the  ground.  My  head  struck  the  ice  so  hard  that  it 
nearly  killed  me.  I  was  carried  home ;  brain  fever  came 
on  and  I  lay  in  bed  till  spring.  To  make  matters  worse, 
the  wound  in  my  head  broke  out  again  and  I  was  delirious 
for  part  of  the  time.  But  this  dear  girl  stayed  by  my 
bedside  day  after  day,  and  helped  me  past  death's  door. 
They  thought  I  was  dying  one  day,  and  she  was  driven 

176 


A  Terrible  Journey  177 

half  wild  for  fear  I  might  go ;  but  the  next  day  I  had  ral 
lied  and  from  then  on  I  recovered  very  fast. 

Our  intention  was  to  get  married ;  but  before  we  could 
realize  our  hopes  they  were  blighted  and  destroyed  by 
certain  men  who  should  have  been  our  friends.  These 
men  poisoned  the  minds  of  her  parents  against  me,  while 
I  was  away  driving  the  stage  and  guarding  the  cattle  of 
the  people  against  the  Indians;  her  parents  refused  to 
allow  her  to  answer  my  letters;  and  finally  they  suc 
ceeded  in  making  her  give  me  up  and  marry  one  of  the 
men  who  had  turned  them  against  me. 

The  little  bunch  of  cattle,  which  I  had  bought  with  the 
money  I  had  received  for  my  team,  were  stolen  that  win 
ter,  presumably  by  the  Indians.  I  hunted  for  them  for  a 
while,  but  not  one  did  I  ever  get  back.  The  money  I  had 
saved  for  a  "wedding  stake,"  I  gave  to  mother ;  and  as  I 
had  no  heart  to  stay  in  that  town  any  longer,  I  started 
for  the  road  again. 

That  summer  I  worked  for  John  Bolwinkle  of  Salt 
Lake  City,  as  his  wagon  boss,  in  charge  of  his  ox-team 
freighting  from  Carson  City,  Nevada.  A  mail  route  had 
been  established  from  Salt  Lake  City  to  Bannock,  Mon 
tana,  and  Mr.  Leonard  I.  Smith  obtained  the  contract 
to  carry  this  mail.  Knowing  of  my  experience  in  this 
business,  he  induced  me  to  drive  the  stage  from  Salt 
Lake  north  that  winter. 

We  started  out  some  time  in  November  with  a  wagon- 
load  of  dry  goods  to  trade  for  horses  along  the  road. 
Besides  this,  we  had  one  light  coach  and  two  buggies,  in 
which  were  seven  passengers.  We  went  on  our  journey 
through  Ogden,  Brigham  City,  and  other  towns  north, 
buying  what  horses  we  could  as  we  went  along.  For  a  few 
days  we  stopped  at  Soda  Springs  to  arrange  about  mak 
ing  a  mail  station  there.  At  that  time  a  large  company 


178  The  White  Indian  Boy 

of  soldiers  were  wintering  in  the  town.  It  was  the  plan 
of  Mr.  Smith  to  make  me  division  agent  from  Soda 
Springs  to  Salt  Lake,  but  I  was  to  go  on  with  him  to  Ban 
nock  to  get  acquainted  with  the  whole  route. 

When  we  got  to  Bannock,  winter  had  set  in.  It 
snowed  very  hard  while  we  were  there,  and  kept  snowing 
all  of  the  way  back.  By  the  time  we  got  to  Snake  River, 
the  snow  was  deep,  and  there  was  no  place  where  we 
could  buy  feed  for  our  horses.  We  had  two  passengers 
with  us,  and  Mr.  Smith  had  not  provided  us  with  supplies 
enough  to  last  us  half  way  back  to  Soda  Springs. 

We  could  not  travel  as  fast  as  he  had  planned  on  ac 
count  of  the  deep  snow,  and  the  horses  were  getting  very 
weak  for  want  of  food.  For  these  reasons  we  could  not 
come  back  on  the  road  by  which  we  had  gone,  so  we  kept 
down  the  Snake  River  to  where  the  Blackfoot  empties  into 
it.  There  we  ate  the  last  of  our  provisions.  We  were 
still  one  hundred  miles  from  any  place  where  we  could 
get  more,  and  the  snow  was  becoming  deeper  every  day. 
When  we  got  up  the  Ross  Fork  Canyon  we  had  to  stop 
for  the  night.  Here  three  of  the  horses  gave  out,  and  we 
had  to  leave  them  and  one  of  the  buggies.  We  had  left 
the  coach  at  Beaver  Canyon. 

The  next  morning  we  started  before  breakfast,  for  we 
had  eaten  the  last  thing  the  morning  before.  The  snow 
kept  falling  all  the  time,  and  by  noon,  it  was  at  least  three 
feet  deep.  All  of  us  but  the  driver  would  walk  ahead  of 
the  team  to  break  the  road.  We  had  four  horses  on  the 
buggy,  and  the  buggy  would  push  up  the  snow  ahead  of  it 
until  it  would  run  in  over  the  dashboard  and  sides. 
That  day  two  more  of  the  horses  gave  out  and  we  had  to 
leave  them,  but  we  reached  the  head  of  the  Portneuf. 

That  night  we  all  turned  out  and  kicked  the  snow  off 
a  little  space  so  the  poor  horses  could  get  some  frozen 


A  Terrible  Journey  179 

grass,  but  it  was  so  very  cold  and  they  were  so  tired  that 
they  could  not  eat  very  much. 

The  next  morning  we  made  another  early  start,  and 
Mr.  Smith  said  we  would  get  to  Soda  Springs  that  day, 
but  I  knew  we  could  not  get  there  that  day,  nor  the  next 
day,  either.  I  told  the  passengers  that  if  we  were  to  leave 
the  buggy,  we  might  make  it  in  two  days,  but  the  way  we 
were  fooling  along  with  the  worn-out  horses,  we  never 
would  get  there.  They  told  Mr.  Smith  what  I  said  and  he 
upbraided  me  for  it.  He  said  I  had  scared  the  passengers 
nearly  to  death  and  he  wanted  me  to  stop. 

Well,  by  noon  that  day,  we  came  to  the  road  we  had 
come  out  on,  but  Mr.  Smith  did  not  know  the  place  and 
wanted  to  follow  the  road  over  which  we  had  traveled  in 
going  to  Bannock.  I  told  him  the  way  we  wanted  to  go 
was  south,  but  the  way  he  wanted  to  go  was  north.  He 
told  me  I  was  wrong  and  ordered  me  to  keep  still. 
"Well,"  I  said,  "I  will  go  to  Soda  Springs  and  you  can  go 
to  the  other  place,"  so  I  took  what  I  wanted  out  of  the 
buggy  and  started  off,  but  I  had  not  gone  far  when  I 
heard  some  one  calling  me.  It  was  so  foggy  and  the 
frost  was  falling  so  fast  that  I  could  see  only  a  few  yards, 
and  as  I  hesitated  about  going  back,  one  of  the  passen 
gers  came  up  to  me  and  asked  me  if  I  was  sure  I  knew 
where  I  was  going,  and  begged  me  to  come  back  to  the 
buggy. 

One  of  the  passengers  was  a  large,  strong  Irishman, 
and  appeared  to  be  well  educated ;  the  other  was  a  sickly 
looking  Englishman.  I  don't  remember  their  names,  but 
they  called  each  other  Mike  and  Jimmy.  I  went  back 
to  the  buggy  and  Mike  saw  that  I  did  not  want  anything 
to  say  to  Mr.  Smith,  so  he  did  the  talking.  He  questioned 
Mr.  Smith  and  then  me  for  quite  a  while,  and  then  he 
said  he  believed  that  I  was  right.  He  told  the  driver  to 


180 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


A  Terrible  Journey  181 

turn  the  team  around  and  follow  me.  The  driver  obeyed 
although  it  made  Mr.  Smith  very  angry. 

After  turning  south  we  had  not  traveled  over  four  miles, 
when  one  of  the  remaining  horses  gave  out  and  we  could 
not  get  the  poor  thing  to  move,  so  we  had  to  leave  the 
buggy.  We  went  on  about  three  or  four  hundred  yards 
to  a  clump  of  quaking  aspen,  and  built  a  large  fire.  When 
we  all  got  warm,  I  went  to  bring  up  the  horses  and  buggy, 
and  when  I  got  back  to  the  fire,  Mr.  Smith  and  Mike  were 
quarreling.  Mr.  Smith  said  that  we  were  going  away 
from  Soda  Springs,  and  that  he  intended  to  turn  and  go 
the  other  way. 

It  was  already  quite  dark,  but  we  could  travel  just  as 
well  in  the  night  as  in  the  day,  for  we  could  not  see  very 
far  anyhow  on  account  of  the  fog.  I  said  I  knew  I  was 
right  and  for  all  those  who  wanted  to  go  to  Soda  Springs 
to  fall  in  line,  for  I  was  going  to  start  right  then.  I  went 
to  the  buggy  and  got  a  pair  of  buffalo  moccasins  I  had 
there,  put  them  on,  and  started  down  the  trail.  "Hold 
on,"  called  Mike,  "I  will  go  with  you."  Then  Jimmy 
said  he  was  not  going  to  stay  there  and  starve  to  death, 
that  he  would  go  with  us,  too.  So  the  three  of  us  went 
our  way  and  left  Mr.  Smith  and  the  driver  standing  there 
in  the  fog  and  snow. 

It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  at  night  when  we  left  the 
buggy.  We  did  not  feel  much  like  pushing  our  way  through 
the  snow,  for  we  had  already  walked  many  miles  that  day, 
and  had  been  three  days  without  anything  to  eat.  Mike 
said  he  would  take  the  lead  to  break  the  path,  I  was  to 
come  next,  and  Jimmy  was  to  follow  me.  There  was 
about  a  foot  of  snow  with  a  crust  on  it,  not  quite  hard 
enough  to  hold  one  up,  and  on  top  of  this  was  about  two 
feet  of  lighter  snow,  so  you  see  it  was  very  hard  traveling. 

We  had  not  been  out  over  two  hours,  when  Mike  said 


182  The  White  Indian  Boy 

his  feet  were  frozen.  I  had  a  few  matches  in  my  pocket 
wrapped  in  paper,  and  we  kicked  around  to  find  some  dry 
sagebrush,  but  it  was  all  wet  and  frozen.  We  broke  up 
some  and  tried  to  make  a  fire,  but  it  would  not  burn. 
Pretty  soon  Mike  said  we  should  give  him  the  matches 
and  he  would  try  it.  He  took  them  and  laid  them  down 
by  his  side  while  trying  to  light  one,  and  Jimmy  came  up, 
struck  them  with  his  foot,  and  scattered  them  all  through 
the  snow.  We  could  not  find  a  single  one  of  them,  so  we 
had  to  go  without  any  fire. 

We  trudged  along,  stumbling  over  sagebrush  and  rock 
until  morning.  Mike  said  we  must  be  very  near  Soda 
Springs,  for  he  thought  we  had  traveled  twenty  miles  or 
more  during  the  night,  and  he  could  not  believe  me  when 
I  told  him  we  had  not  made  over  eight  miles.  I  told  them 
before  we  left  the  buggy  that  it  was  about  thirty  miles  to 
Soda  Springs,  so  I  knew  we  had  over  twenty  miles  yet. 

Jimmy  and  I  were  about  played  out,  and  had  to  stop 
every  little  while  to  rest.  Mike  had  long  legs,  but  Jimmy 
and  I  were  so  short  that  when  we  tried  to  step  in  his 
tracks  we  had  to  jump,  and  that  made  it  harder  for 
Jimmy  and  me.  During  the  night  we  had  traveled  too  far 
to  the  east  and  had  left  the  trail  through  the  lava  beds 
and  sagebrush,  and  had  started  to  cross  the  big  meadow 
and  swamps  along  the  Blackfoot  River.  The  tall  slough 
grass  and  bulrushes  were  so  tangled  and  frozen  together 
that  we  could  hardly  get  through  them.  Sometimes  Mike 
would  forget  himself  and  step  about  six  feet  over  a  large 
mass  of  grass  and  rushes,  and  Jimmy  and  I  would  have 
to  wallow  through  them. 

About  noon  the  fog  rose  a  little  and  we  could  see  a  large 
butte  which  we  called  the  Chinaman's  Hat,  and  which  I 
knew  was  twelve  miles  from  Soda  Springs.  The  butte 
was  about  four  miles  ahead  of  us,  which  would  make  it 


A  Terrible  Journey  183 

sixteen  miles  from  where  we  were  to  Soda.  Jimmy  said 
his  feet  were  frozen,  and  that  he  was  too  tired  to  go  much 
farther.  I  was  about  worn  out,  too,  so  we  were  in  a 
pretty  bad  fix.  The  fog  soon  settled  again,  and  was  so 
thick  that  we  could  not  see  fifty  yards,  and  we  were  all  so 
tired  out  that  I  knew  we  could  not  reach  the  Chinaman 's 
Hat  before  ten  o'clock  that  night. 

We  decided  that  we  must  not  stop  to  rest  more  than 
ten  minutes  at  any  time,  and  that  at  least  one  of  us  must 
keep  awake,  for  we  knew  that  if  all  went  to  sleep  at  the 
same  time  we  would  never  again  wake  up. 

It  was  a  bitter  cold  night.  There  was  no  wind  blowing, 
and  it  was  very  still,  not  even  a  bird,  rabbit,  or  coyote 
was  to  be  seen  or  heard  —  not  a  sound  but  the  ringing  in 
our  ears.  By  this  time  I  had  gotten  over  my  being  hungry, 
but  I  was  very  thirsty,  and  I  had  eaten  so  much  snow 
to  satisfy  my  thirst  that  my  mouth  and  tongue  had  be 
come  so  sore  and  swollen  that  I  could  scarcely  speak. 
Jimmy  was  so  used  up  by  this  time  that  we  could  hardly 
get  him  to  move  after  we  had  stopped  to  rest,  and  Mike 
would  sometimes  carry  him  a  little  way ;  but  Jimmy  said 
it  hurt  him,  so  Mike  would  have  to  put  him  down  again. 

Well,  night  was  coming  on  again,  and  I  do  not  think 
we  had  traveled  over  three  or  four  miles  that  day,  but  we 
were  doing  the  best  we  could.  About  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  we  stopped  for  a  minute's  rest ;  I  settled  back 
in  the  snow  and  put  one  foot  out  for  Jimmy  to  lay  his 
head  on.  Soon  it  was  time  to  start  again  and  I  shook 
Jimmy,  but  he  did  not  stir.  Mike  had  already  started, 
so  I  pulled  my  foot  out  from  under  Jimmy's  head,  and  as 
I  did  so  his  head  sank  in  the  snow.  Then  I  took  hold  of 
him  and  tried  to  raise  him,  but  I  could  not.  I  called  for 
Mike,  and  when  he  came  back,  we  raised  Jimmy  up,  and 
I  saw  that  he  was  dead. 


184 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


I  cannot  tell  you  what  happened  in  the  next  half  hour, 
but  from  what  he  said  in  his  sorrow  over  Jimmy's  death, 
I  learned  for  the  first  time  that  Jimmy  had  married  Mike's 
sister.  After  a  while  I  scraped  the  snow  away  clear  to  the 
ground,  and  while  doing  this,  I  found  a  dry  thistle  stalk 
about  fourteen  inches  long.  I  took  the  dead  man's  coat 
off,  laid  him  in  the  hole,  spread  the  coat  over  his  face, 
and  covered  him  with  snow,  making  a  little  mound  like  a 
grave.  I  tore  some  of  the  lining  from  my  coat,  tied  it  to 
the  thistle,  and  stuck  it  over  the  grave. 

It  was  hard  work  to  get  Mike  started  again.  He  said 
we  were  all  going  to  die  anyway,  and  he  would  rather 
stay  there  with  Jimmy.  I  told  him  we  were  nearly  to 
Soda  Springs,  and  if  he  would  try,  we  could  get  there ; 
but  he  said  I  had  told  him  that  so  much  that  he  didn't 
believe  I  knew  where  Soda  Springs  was.  He  said  I  had 


Shoshone  tepee.    Brush  across  entrance 
means  "  No  one  at  home." 


A  Terrible  Journey  185 

told  him  when  we  first  started  from  the  buggy  that  it  was 
only  thirty  miles  and  he  knew  we  had  traveled  over 
seventy  miles  by  this  time.  I  told  him  I  knew  if  we  trav 
eled  as  fast  as  we  could  that  we  would  be  in  Soda  Springs 
in  two  hours. 

We  talked  there  a  long  time,  and  I  began  to  think  that 
Mike  had  really  made  up  his  mind  not  to  try  to  go  on  any 
more,  when  just  before  dark  he  seemed  to  take  fresh 
courage.  He  jumped  up  and  started  out  so  fast  that  I 
could  not  keep  up  with  him.  After  a  while  he  stopped 
and  sat  down  again  in  the  snow,  and  when  I  caught  up 
to  him  I  found  him  sound  asleep.  I  let  the  poor  fellow 
sleep  a  few  minutes,  and  then  I  found  it  almost  impossible 
to  wake  him.  After  pulling  and  shaking  him,  I  finally 
got  him  on  his  feet,  but  he  would  start  off  the  wrong  way. 
Then  I  would  get  hold  of  him  and  start  him  off  right,  but 
he  would  turn  around  and  go  the  wrong  way.  He  did 
not  know  what  he  was  doing,  so  I  had  to  take  the  lead. 
Then  he  would  stop  and  I  would  have  to  go  back  and  get 
him. 

After  a  little  time  he  seemed  to  come  to  himself,  and 
took  the  lead  again  for  about  a  mile,  and  then  he  sat  down 
in  the  snow  and  said  he  was  done  for,  and  that  he  would 
not  go  another  step.  I  did  all  I  could  to  rouse  him,  but 
he  would  not  stir.  He  gave  me  a  small  memorandum 
book  and  a  little  buckskin  bag  full  of  gold  dust,  and  told 
me  he  had  a  sister  living  in  Mississippi,  and  that  I  would 
find  her  address  in  the  book.  I  talked  to  him  a  long  time 
to  try  to  get  him  to  come  with  me,  but  he  would  not 
move. 

I  saw  that  it  was  of  no  use,  and  that  I  would  have  to 
leave  him  or  lie  down  in  the  snow  and  die  with  him.  This 
I  felt  like  doing,  but  for  the  sake  of  my  mother  and  sisters, 
I  thought  I  would  make  one  more  effort  to  reach  the 


186  The  White  Indian  Boy 

town,  so  I  left  him  and  had  gone  about  seventy-five 
yards,  when  I  stumbled  over  something  and  fell  head 
long  into  the  snow.  I  cleared  the  snow  away  from  my 
face,  and  sat  there  thinking  about  home  and  how  badly 
my  mother  would  feel  if  she  knew  where  I  was,  and  how 
easy  it  would  be  to  lie  there  in  the  snow  and  go  to  sleep. 

Drowsiness  had  nearly  overcome  me  when,  suddenly,  I 
heard  the  far-away  tinkle  of  a  bell.  I  knew  then  that  I  was 
not  far  from  Soda  Springs.  I  jumped  up  and  ran  back  to 
Mike  as  fast  as  I  could  go,  and  when  I  got  to  him,  I  found 
him  stretched  out  on  the  snow  with  his  hands  folded 
over  his  breast  and  sound  asleep.  It  was  all  but  impossible 
to  wake  him.  I  am  certain  he  would  have  died  if  he  had 
been  left  ten  minutes  longer.  When  I  got  him  awake 
enough  to  tell  him  about  the  bell,  the  sound  had  ceased. 
He  would  not  believe  what  I  told  him  about  it,  so  I  could 
not  get  him  to  come  with  me. 

I  went  back  to  the  place  where  I  first  heard  the  bell  and 
sat  down  again.  In  a  few  minutes  I  heard  it  louder  than 
before.  Then  I  rushed  back  to  Mike  and  found  him 
awake,  and  when  I  got  him  to  listen  he  heard  the  bell  this 
time,  too.  He  jumped  up  and  started  so  fast  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  sound  that  I  could  not  keep  up  with  him. 
When  he  would  see  me  falling  behind,  he  would  come  back 
and  take  hold  of  my  hands  and  pull  me  along.  I  begged 
him  to  let  me  alone  and  told  him  it  hurt  me  to  be  jerked 
over  the  snow  in  that  way.  Then  he  would  kick  the 
snow  and  say  that  he  would  make  a  good  road  for  me  if  I 
would  only  come. 

We  had  traveled  this  way  for  about  half  an  hour,  when 
the  fog  rose  a  little  and  we  saw,  a  short  distance  ahead 
of  us,  a  faint  light.  He  then  left  me  and  started  for 
the  light  as  fast  as  he  could  go.  I  tried  to  follow,  but 
slipped  and  fell,  and  found  that  I  could  not  get  up  again. 


A  Terrible  Journey  187 

Many  times  I  tried  to  rise,  but  fell  back  every  time.  I 
thought  if  I  lay  there  a  while  and  rested,  then  perhaps 
I  could  get  up  and  go  on.  I  guess  I  must  have  fallen 
asleep,  for  the  first  thing  I  knew,  two  men  had  hold  of 
me  and  were  carrying  me  to  the  hotel  where  we  had  seen 
the  light.  Mike  had  reached  there  and  had  told  the  men 
in  the  hotel  that  one  of  his  companions  was  dead  and  an 
other  was  out  there  just  a  little  way  dying  in  the  snow. 

When  we  got  to  the  door,  Mike  was  standing  there  with 
a  big  glass  of  whiskey  in  his  hand.  "  Down  this,  old  boy," 
he  said,  "and  it  will  be  the  making  of  you,"  but  I  could 
not  bear  the  smell  of  this  liquor,  to  say  nothing  of  drink 
ing  it. 

They  set  me  down  in  a  chair  near  the  stove,  but  the  heat 
soon  made  me  feel  sick,  and  I  had  to  move  as  far  from  the 
fire  as  I  could  get.  The  cook  brought  something  for  us  to 
eat,  but  my  mouth  and  tongue  hurt  me  so  that  I  could 
hardly  eat  anything.  Then  the  light  began  to  grow  dim 
and  I  could  feel  them  shaking  me  and  could  hear  them 
talking  to  me,  but  I  could  not  answer,  for  my  tongue  was  so 
swollen.  Then  I  seemed  to  go  away  off. 

The  next  thing  I  remember,  they  were  telling  me  that 
the  doctors  had  come,  and  I  saw  that  the  house  was  full 
of  people.  They  told  me  that  Mike's  feet  were  frozen  and 
that  two  men  were  holding  them  in  a  tub  of  cold  water  to 
try  to  draw  the  frost  out.  The  doctor  was  pulling  my 
moccasins  off  and  I  heard  him  say  that  my  feet  were  all 
right.  It  seems  that  they  were  giving  me  hot  soup  or 
something  every  minute,  but  I  was  so  sleepy  that  I  hardly 
knew  what  was  going  on.  I  soon  found  myself  in  bed 
with  two  doctors  standing  over  me.  One  of  them  was 
the  faithful  Doctor  Palmer  who,  years  afterwards,  be 
came  a  dear  friend  and  neighbor  of  mine.  He  told  me 
they  had  just  brought  in  the  dead  man,  and  that  they 


188  The  White  Indian  Boy 

did  not  know  what  to  do  with  him  until  either  Mike  or  I 
was  able  to  talk.  They  were  going  to  hold  an  inquest 
over  the  body  and  wanted  witnesses  to  tell  how  he  died. 
I  tried  to  ask  if  they  had  sent  for  Mr.  Smith,  but  they 
could  not  understand  what  I  said. 

I  don't  know  how  much  time  had  passed,  when  an  army 
officer  came  in  and  began  talking  to  Doctor  Palmer.  I 
heard  Doctor  Palmer  say,  "Is  that  so?"  The  officer 
said  it  was.  Then  Doctor  Palmer  said,  "I  did  not  know 
he  was  that  bad."  I  rose  to  ask  what  was  the  matter, 
but  Doctor  Palmer  told  me  to  lie  still.  The  officer  said, 
"Shall  I  tell  him?"  Doctor  Palmer  said,  "Not  now, 
let  the  other  doctor  tell  him."  The  officer  went  out  and 
soon  the  old  doctor  came  in.  He  told  me  that  the  man 
who  came  with  me  had  his  feet  so  badly  frozen  that  he 
could  not  save  them  and  they  would  have  to  be  taken  off. 
He  said  he  would  leave  Sergeant  Chauncey  with  me  while 
Doctor  Palmer  assisted  him  in  cutting  off  Mike's  feet. 
He  told  me  to  keep  very  quiet  and  in  a  few  days  I  would 
be  all  right. 

About  two  hours  after  Mike  and  I  reached  the  hotel,  a 
company  of  men  started  out  to  find  Mr.  Smith ;  and  when 
they  reached  the  buggy,  they  found  Mr.  Smith  and  the 
driver  all  right.  They  had  the  meat  of  two  horses  cut 
up  and  hanging  in  the  trees.  When  they  told  Mr.  Smith 
that  Mike  and  I  had  reached  Soda  Springs  but  that  Jimmy 
was  dead,  he  said  he  was  surprised  that  we  were  not  all 
dead,  for  he  was  certain  that  I  was  leading  them  right 
away  from  the  town. 

The  party  that  went  out  for  Mr.  Smith  got  back  the 
day  the  doctors  were  going  to  cut  Mike's  feet  off.  Mr. 
Smith  came  in  to  see  me,  and  he  almost  cried  when  he  saw 
the  fix  I  was  in.  He  said  he  would  take  me  right  to  Salt 
Lake  City,  where  I  would  get  better  care  than  I  could  in 


A  Terrible  Journey 


189 


S.  N.  Leet,  Jackson,  Wyoming 

Winter  scene  near  Uncle  Nick's  home  in  Jackson's  Hole.     Thousands  of 
elk  come  into  this  valley  during  the  "  snowy  moons." 

Soda  Springs.     They  would  not  allow  him  to  move  me, 
however,  though  he  tried  his  hardest  to  take  me. 

Owing  to  the  skill  of  Doctor  Palmer  I  got  along  pretty 
well,  but  it  was  several  weeks  before  I  was  able  to  get 
around  very  much.  Poor  Mike  suffered  terribly  after  his 


190  The  White  Indian  Boy 

feet  were  taken  off,  but  he  got  well  and  strong  as  ever, 
except  for  the  loss  of  his  feet. 

When  I  got  well,  I  drove  the  mail  from  Soda  Springs 
to  Franklin  during  the  rest  of  the  winter.  That  June 
Jimmy's  wife  came  out  from  Mississippi.  She  was  Mike's 
sister,  and  a  most  beautiful  woman. 

She  and  Mike  induced  me  to  stop  driving  the  mail  for  a 
while  and  take  them  back  over  the  road  we  traveled  those 
awful  days  to  reach  Soda  Springs.  I  secured  a  buggy  for 
us  to  ride  in,  a  small  spring  wagon  to  carry  the  camp  out 
fit,  and  a  good  cook  to  go  with  us  to  do  the  cooking  and 
drive  the  mess  wagon. 

We  first  stopped  where  Jimmy  died.  The  spot  was 
still  marked  by  the  pieces  of  my  coat  lining  that  were  ly 
ing  around.  Then  we  went  to  where  we  had  left  Mr.  Smith 
and  his  driver.  When  we  reached  the  place  where  Mr. 
Smith  wanted  to  turn  north  and  follow  the  old  trail  in  the 
wrong  direction,  Mike  told  his  sister  that  if  it  had  not 
been  for  me  that  day,  they  would  all  have  gone  the  wrong 
way  and  there,  somewhere  on  that  lonely  trail,  have  per 
ished  in  the  snow.  From  there  we  went  to  the  Snake 
River,  where  we  had  eaten  our  last  meal  on  that  awful 
trip. 

We  found  here  a  large  band  of  Indians,  and  among  them 
were  several  that  I  was  acquainted  with.  We  could  not 
get  away  from  them,  they  were  so  glad  to  see  me,  so  we 
stayed  here  four  days.  They  wanted  to  know  why  I 
didn't  come  back  in  those  days  and  live  with  them  all  the 
time.  Then  I  had  to  tell  them  all  about  where  I  had  been 
ever  since  I  went  away  from  them  and  what  I  had  been 
doing  all  that  time.  They  took  Jturns  asking  me  questions 
until  I  thought  they  would  talk  me  to  death. 

These  were  the  first  Indians  this  woman  had  ever  seen, 
and  she  was  frightened  of  them  until  she  noticed  how 


A  Terrible  Journey  191 

glad  they  were  to  see  mo  and  how  kind  they  were ;  then  she 
felt  better  towards  them.  She  said  she  was  delighted  to 
hear  me  talk  to  them,  that  they  were  certainly  a  queer 
people,  and  that  I  must  have  been  a  strange  boy  to  leave 
my  home  and  go  to  live  with  them. 

After  I  had  finished  my  visit  with  the  Indians  we 
turned  back  over  the  same  road.  When  we  got  to  mother's 
home,  Mike  and  his  sister  stayed  with  us  three  weeks. 
They  kept  trying  all  the  time  to  induce  me  to  go  with 
them  to  her  home  in  Mississippi,  but  my  mother  objected 
so  strongly  that  I  would  not  go,  although  I  wanted  to  very 
much.  They  would  have  treated  me  very  kindly,  I  am 
sure.  They  even  offered  to  share  their  property  with  me ; 
but  I  thought  more  of  my  mother  than  I  did  of  anybody 
else  in  the  world  and  I  could  not  leave  her  to  make  my 
home  among  strangers. 


"  Finally  she  came  to  my  white  mother's  home." 

CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO 

MY    OLD    SHOSHONE   FRIENDS 

"WHAT  became  of  your  old  Indian  mother,  Washakie, 
Hanabi,  and  the  rest?"  This  question  has  been  asked 
me  again  and  again.  "Did  you  ever  see  them  again?" 
"What  other  experiences  did  you  have  with  the  Indians  ?" 
Such  queries  as  these  have  been  sent  to  me  from  even 
far-off  France  by  people  who  have  read  the  first  edition 
of  my  little  book. 

To  satisfy  my  readers  on  these  points  and  others  that 
may  be  of  interest,  I  have  added  a  few  more  chapters  to 
my  story. 

When  I  left  my  dear  old  Indian  mother  up  north  on 
"Pohogoy,"  or  Ross  Fork,  —  a  place  near  the  Snake  River, 
—  I  promised  her  I  would  come  back  to  her.  That  promise 
I  intended  to  keep ;  but  I  was  prevented  from  doing  so 
by  other  pressing  duties,  till  it  was  too  late. 

She  waited  a  year  for  her  "  Yagaki"  to  return,  then  her 
sorrow  became  so  great  she  couldn't  bear  it  longer  and 
she  started  out  to  hunt  me  up.  The  Indians  told  me 
later  that  after  I  had  been  gone  a  few  months  my  old 

192 


My  Old  Shoshone  Friends  193 

mother  would  roam  off  in  the  mountains  and  lonely 
places  and  stay  until  hunger  would  drive  her  home.  Fi 
nally  she  came  to  my  white  mother's  home  in  Grantsville 
to  find  her  boy.  My  mother  made  her  welcome,  taking 
my  Indian  mother  into  her  home,  feeding  her,  and  pro 
viding  her  with  a  room  as  one  of  the  family. 

Then  she  wrote  me  that  my  two  mothers  wanted  me  to 
come  home.  I  wished  with  all  my  heart  to  do  so,  but  at 
that  time  I  was  about  five  hundred  miles  away,  out  on 
the  mail  line,  badly  wounded  in  the  head  by  an  Indian 
arrow.  When  I  recovered  enough  to  travel,  I  had  to  go 
to  work  again.  The  Indians  at  this  time  were  burning 
stations  and  killing  men  every  chance  they  got.  Riders 
became  so  scarce  and  hard  to  get  that  I  could  not  well 
leave,  no  matter  how  I  felt. 

When  I  finally  did  get  away,  I  found  that  my  own 
mother,  as  I  have  said  before,  had  moved  into  Cache 
Valley,  and  my  old  Indian  mother  had  left  her,  broken 
hearted  because  she  had  not  found  her  papoose.  She 
had  stayed  with  my  white  mother  for  more  than  two 
months.  When  I  did  not  return  as  she  expected,  she 
grew  suspicious  that  my  white  mother  had  hidden  me 
away;  and  no  words  could  comfort  her  or  change  her 
mind.  Finally  she  went  off  with  some  Indians  who  came 
there. 

My  mother  urged  me  to  hunt  her  up.  She  had  taken 
quite  a  fancy  to  the  Indian  woman.  She  thought  it  my 
duty  to  find  and  care  for  her  the  rest  of  her  life.  I  felt  so 
too.  She  had  been  a  dear  friend  to  me.  She  had  cared 
for  me  and  protected  me  from  harm,  even  saving  my  life 
several  times. 

The  next  word  I  got  of  my  Indian  mother  was  that  she 
was  dead.  This  sad  news  came  from  a  band  of  Shoshones 
I  found  in  the  Bear  Lake  Valley.  Hearing  they  were 


194 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


I 


I 


My  Old  Shoshone  Friends  195 

there,  I  had  gone  to  see  them,  thinking  to  meet  some  of 
my  old  Indian  friends.  But  those  I  wished  most  to  see 
were  not  among  the  band.  My  dear  old  mother,  they 
told  me,  had  died  about  three  years  after  I  left.  Washakie 
was  then  out  in  the  Wind  River  country.  As  these  In 
dians  were  going  there,  I  decided  to  go  with  them. 

We  found  Washakie  at  South  Pass.  He  was  very 
glad  to  see  me,  and  treated  me  like  a  brother.  But 
he  could  not  tell  me  just  where  our  mother  was  buried, 
as  he  had  happened  to  be  away  from  her  when  she  died. 
He  only  knew  that  her  grave  was  somewhere  on  Ham's 
Fork1  in  Wyoming.  He  found  an  Indian  who  said  he 
knew  where  it  was.  I  offered  to  give  him  a  pony  if  he 
would  guide  me  to  it.  He  agreed,  and  we  went  back  to 
the  head  of  Ham's  Fork.  We  found  the  camping  place 
they  were  at  when  she  died,  but  not  the  grave,  though  we 
hunted  for  three  days  together,  and  I  stayed  another  day 
after  he  left.  Since  then  I  have  passed  the  place  many 
times  and  have  searched  again  and  again ;  for  I  did  de 
sire  to  carry  out  my  old  Indian  mother's  wish  to  be  buried 
like  the  whites,  but  I  have  never  found  her  grave. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  Indians  to  bury  their  dead  in 
some  cleft  of  rocks  or  wash.  They  left  no  mark  over  the 
grave,  but  they  usually  buried  with  the  body  articles  the 
deceased  had  treasured  in  life,  as  weapons,  clothing,  etc. 
In  the  grave  with  my  dear  old  mother  they  placed  the 
beaded  and  tasseled  quiver  she  had  made  of  the  skin  of 
the  antelope  I  had  killed,  the  auger  I  had  sent  to  Salt 
Lake  for,  and  other  things  of  mine  she  had  kept  after  I 
went  away.  There  are  those  who  think  an  Indian  has  no 
heart.  This  dear  old  woman  certainly  had  one  that  was 
tender  and  true.  Her  soul  was  good  and  pure.  Peace 
to  her  memory. 

1  A  branch  of  the  Green  River. 


196  The  White  Indian  Boy 

Washakie's  wife  Hanabi  was  another  good  woman. 
She,  too,  had  died  before  I  returned  to  the  Indians.  Her 
little  girl  papoose,  the  baby  when  I  was  with  them,  grew 
up,  I  have  been  told,  and  married. 

Washakie  married  another  squaw  by  whom  he  had 
several  children.  One  of  them,  Dick  Washakie,  is  still 
living  in  the  Wind  River  country.  He  is  a  wealthy  Indian, 
and  has  considerable  influence. 

When  these  Shoshone  Indians  made  their  treaty  with 
the  government  there  were  three  reservations  set  apart 
for  the  Shoshone  tribe  —  Fort  Hall,  Lemhi,  and  Wind 
River.  Washakie  was  given  his  choice.  He  took  the 
Wind  River  reserve  because,  as  he  told  me  afterwards,  it 
had  been  his  boyhood  home,  and  his  father  was  buried 
there.  Here  Washakie  spent  the  rest  of  his  life,  honored 
by  his  tribe  and  respected  for  his  goodness  and  his  wis 
dom  by  all  the  whites  who  knew  him.  During  the  early 
nineties  he  passed  to  the  Happy  Hunting  Grounds. 

I  saw  Washakie  many  times  before  he  died.  We  were 
always  brothers.  When  I  lived  in  Bloomington,  Bear 
Lake  County,  Idaho,  the  chief  often  came  and  stayed 
with  me.  He  was  always  made  welcome  in  my  home, 
and  his  lodge  was  always  open  to  me.  During  the  time 
of  Chief  Joseph's  War,  Washakie  brought  his  band  and 
camped  for  some  months  near  my  ranch  on  Bear  River ; 
and  every  day  he  would  come  to  get  the  news  of  the  war. 
My  wife  would  read  the  paper  and  I  would  interpret  it 
for  the  Indians. 

While  this  war  was  on,  the  whites  would  not  sell  am 
munition  to  the  Indians  without  a  letter  of  recommenda 
tion,  or  "Tabop,"  as  they  called  it.  The  Indians  all 
came  to  me  for  these  letters.  My  home  for  years  was 
their  headquarters.  They  would  have  eaten  me  out  of 
house  and  home  if  the  ward  authorities  had  not  come  to 
my  rescue  and  helped  to  feed  these  Red  Brethren. 


"  I  would  .     .     .  ride  the  round  of  the  traps." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-THREE 

TRAPPING    WITH   AN    INDIAN 

BUT  the  Indians  were  not  always  a  burden.  They 
sometimes  gave  me  good  help.  At  one  time  in  particular 
I  found  an  Indian  who  proved  a  friend  in  need.  It  was 
during  the  winter  of  1866-7,  the  year  after  I  had  brought 
my  wife  from  Oxford,  Idaho,  to  Bloomington. 

"Hogitsi,"  a  Shoshone  Indian,  with  his  family,  was 
wintering  in  the  town  at  the  time.  The  whites  called 
him  "Hog/'  but  he  hadn't  a  bit  of  the  hog  in  his  nature. 
I  found  him  to  be  one  of  the  best  Indians  I  ever  knew. 

After  I  had  got  well  acquainted  with  him,  he  proposed 
that  we  try  trapping  to  make  some  money.  I  was  hard 
up  ;  my  family  was  destitute  of  food  and  clothing,  for  I 
had  hard  luck  that  summer,  so  I  was  ready  to  try  anything. 

We  set  to  work  over  in  Nounan  Valley  on  a  little  stream 
ab6ut  fifteen  miles  from  home.  The  results  were  very 
encouraging.  At  the  end  of  the  first  week  we  came  back 
with  sixty  dollars'  worth  of  furs.  It  was  the  easiest 
money  I  ever  made  in  my  life.  Such  success  made  us 
ready  to  try  again. 

197 


198  The  White  Indian  Boy 


New  Yort  Zoological  Society 
A  mink. 

"Hog"  proposed  that  we  go  down  to  the  Portneuf 
country  and  spend  the  winter  at  the  trapping  business. 
He  said  he  knew  of  a  stream  there  that  was  full  of  beaver 
and  mink  and  other  fur  animals.  I  was  anxious  to  go, 
but  my  wife  protested  that  she  could  not  think  of  my 
going  off  for  a  whole  winter  with  an  Indian.  She  was 
sure  I  would  be  scalped.  It  was  hard  work  for  me  to 
persuade  her  that  under  our  circumstances  it  was  the 
right  thing  to  do.  She  finally  consented,  however,  and 
we  set  to  work  to  get  ready. 

With  "Hog"  to  help  we  soon  had  enough  winter's 
wood  chopped  up  to  last  my  family  through  the  winter. 
I  did  all  I  could  otherwise  to  leave  them  comfortable; 
but  the  best  I  could  do  was  not  enough  to  keep  them 
from  having  a  hard  time  of  it  while  I  was  away. 

I  had  three  horses.  "  Hog  "  got  two  more  from  Thomas 
Rich ;  and  Joseph  Rich,  who  kept  a  store  in  Paris,  sup 
plied  us  with  provisions  and  camp  outfit  upon  our  agree 
ing  to  sell  to  him  what  furs  we  should  get. 

It  was  about  a  week  after  New  Year's  that  we  struck 
out  northward  through  the  cold  and  snow.  The  snow 
got  deeper  and  deeper  as  we  went  on  towards  Soda  Springs. 


Trapping  with  an  Indian 


199 


It  seemed  impossible  to  make  our  destination.  I  sug 
gested  that  we  turn  back,  but  "Hog"  wouldn't  listen  to 
me.  He  said  that  we  would  find  the  snow  lighter  from 
there  on,  and  it  would  be  only  a  day  or  two  more  before 
we  got  to  the  Portneuf.  So  I  yielded  and  we  pushed  on 
till  we  reached  Dempsey  Creek,  a  branch  of  the  Port 
neuf.  Here  we  made  our  winter  camp  at  the  base  of  the 
lava  cliffs  that  border  the  stream  near  where  it  empties 
into  the  Portneuf.  We  chose  a  good  place  on  the  sunny 
side  of  the  rock,  and  built  our  quarters.  A  cleft  up  the 
face  of  the  cliff  served  us  well.  By  building  up  a  fourth 
side  to  this  cleft,  we  made  a  fine  chimney  and  fire 
place.  Around  this  we  made  our  shack  —  of  quaking 
aspen  poles  and  willows,  and  long  grass  to  thatch  it. 
For  a  door  we  used  the  skins  of  two  white-tailed  deer 
stretched  over  a  quaking  aspen  frame.  Our  house  was  a 
cosy  shelter  from  the  storms,  and  roomy  enough  to  store 


Beaver  and  beaver  lodge. 


New  York  Zoological  Society 


200  The  White  Indian  Boy 

our  bales  of  furs.     For  wood  we  used  cedar,  which  grew 
near  by. 

Within  the  cedars  we  found  plenty  of  black-tail  deer, 
while  in  the  willows  the  white-tail  were  so  numerous  that 
we  had  little  trouble  to  get  all  we  needed.  Trout  we  could 
catch  at  any  time ;  so  we  had  food  in  abundance. 

When  it  came  to  trapping,  we  found  beaver  and  mink 
so  thick  that  it  was  no  trick  at  all  to  catch  them.  Otter 
were  not  so  plentiful,  but  we  did  land  several  of  these 
beautiful  animals. 

I  tended  the  traps  and  did  the  cooking.  Hogitsi  skinned 
the  animals,  stretched  the  fur,  and  kept  watch  of  the 
horses.  He  was  a  good  worker  —  not  a  lazy  thing  about 
him.  Usually  he  was  in  bed  an  hour  before  me,  and  up 
an  hour  earlier.  By  the  time  I  was  ready  to  tumble  out,  he 
had  the  fire  roaring,  and  was  at  work  on  the  skins.  While 
I  got  breakfast,  he  would  look  after  the  horses,  and  bring 
my  old  buckskin  mare  to  camp.  After  breakfast  I 
would  get  on  her  and  ride  the  rounds  of  the  traps  to  see 
what  luck  the  night  had  brought.  Usually  I  found  the 
traps  all  sprung  and  a  beaver  or  mink  or  sometimes  an 
otter  in  them,  tail  up,  and  drowned  in  the  stream.  For 
we  weighted  the  traps  with  a  rock  to  hold  the  animal, 
when  caught,  under  water.  If  the  animal  is  not  drowned, 
he  will  often  gnaw  off  his  foot  and  get  away.  After 
taking  out  the  game,  I  would  reset  the  traps,  and  return 
to  camp  with  my  load. 

To  keep  the  traps  going  kept  me  busy  all  day.  We 
caught  animals  so  fast  that  I  had  sometimes  to  stop  and 
help  Hogitsi  catch  up  with  his  skinning  and  stretching. 
We  would  sit  up  at  times  late  at  night  at  this  work. 
Evidently  little  trapping,  if  any,  had  ever  been  done  on 
this  stream,  for  the  animals  seemed  not  to  know  what  a 
trap  meant. 


Trapping  with  an  Indian  201 

If  it  hadn't  been  for  the  worry  I  had  for  my  dear  ones  at 
home,  the  winter  would  have  been  a  pleasant  one  in 
every  way.  It  was  one  of  the  easiest  I  ever  spent,  and 
most  profitable.  I  never  have  made  money  faster  than  I 
did  that  winter.  When  springtime  came,  we  had  about 
seven  hundred  pounds  of  fur.  At  that  time  mink  and 
beaver  skins  sold  at  two  dollars  per  pound;  otter  was 
worth  one  dollar  a  foot.  A  stretched  otter  skin  would 
often  bring  nine  dollars  or  more. 

When  we  turned  over  our  pack  to  Mr.  Rich,  we  found 
we  had  $900.00  due  us  after  paying  all  our  expenses. 
He  paid  us  in  gold,  silver,  and  greenbacks.  Hogitsi  was 
scared  when  he  saw  the  pile ;  and  when  it  came  to  divid 
ing,  he  certainly  proved  that  he  was  no  hog;  for  he 
simply  would  not  take  his  full  share.  He  insisted  that 
we  should  not  have  had  any  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me; 
that  it  would  "make  him  too  rich." 

This  streak  of  good  luck  gave  me  a  new  start.  My 
wife  felt  better  about  the  trapping  business ;  but  she  had 
no  desire  to  repeat  the  experience  of  that  winter;  and, 
as  I  found  other  profitable  work  to  do,  I  did  not  turn  to 
trapping  again  as  a  business,  though  I  have  done  a  good 
deal  of  this  work  at  various  times  since.  And  I  have 
also  done  a  good  deal  of  trading  in  furs  with  the  trappers. 

This  trading  has  brought  me  into  acquaintanceship 
with  a  good  many  of  the  mountaineers.  It  was  through 
this  that  I  came  to  know  Kit  Carson,  who  came  to  my 
home  hunting  his  trapper  son-in-law,  Sims,  one  winter. 
Sims  was  wintering  near  at  the  time.  Kit  stopped  over 
night  with  me.  I  brought  his  son-in-law  to  my  home 
and  they  made  up  their  troubles.  Kit  wanted  to  stay 
with  me  for  a  while.  I  took  him  in,  and  we  boarded  and 
lodged  him  for  several  months.  We  had  a  good  time  to 
gether  swapping  yarns  that  winter,  I  can  tell  you. 


'  We  intend  to  tie  you  to  that  tree  and  burn  you  alive.'  " 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FOUR 

WORKING   ON   THE   INDIAN   RESERVATION 

WHEN  the  government  undertook  the  task  of  settling 
the  Indians  on  the  reservations,  I  was  given  the  job  of 
helping  the  Indian  Agent  of  the  Fort  Hall  reservation 
gather  and  keep  the  Redmen  within  bounds.  This  was 
no  easy  task.  The  Indians  found  it  hard,  after  their 
many  years  of  roving  life,  to  be  restrained.  They  often 
grew  discontented,  complaining  at  times  that  they  were 
being  cheated  and  otherwise  mistreated.  It  is  a  well- 
known  fact  that  they  often  had  much  cause  to  complain. 
The  Indians  have  been  abused  shamefully  by  the  whites  at 
times,  and  I  know  it.  Our  dealings  with  the  Redmen 
reflect  no  great  credit  on  us. 

If  the  Indians  became  disgruntled,  as  they  frequently 
did,  they  would  slip  away  to  the  mountains  in  a  sulky 
mood.  Whenever  they  did  this,  it  was  my  business  to 
bring  them  back.  This  task  was  not  only  disagreeable, 
but  sometimes  dangerous. 

At  one  time  a  band  under  the  lead  of  old  Sagwich  got 
angry  over  something,  and  struck  for  the  hills,  strongly 

202 


Working  on  the  Indian  Reservation         203 


determined  that  they  would  not  come  back  to  the  reser 
vation  again. 

I  was  sent  to  bring  them  back ;  they  had  a  week  the 
start  of  me.  I  had  a  good  horse,  however,  and  taking 
with  me  an  Indian  boy  named  Suarki,  to  lead  the  pack 
horse,  I  started  out.  The  second  day  we  struck  their 
trail,  and  knowing  well  the  signs  they  always  leave  be 
hind  them,  we  followed  it  easily;  but  it  led  us  over  a 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  through  a  rough  country  before 
we  found  the  runaway  band. 

On  the  sixth  day  we  came  upon  them  camped  on  the 
Salmon  River.  We  pitched  our  camp  about  a  hundred 
yards  away.  After  unsaddling  our  horses,  I  went  over 
to  have  a  talk  with  them. 

Old  Sagwich  was  very  angry.  He  said  he  knew  what  I 
was  after,  but  he  wouldn't  go  back ;  and  I  would  not  go 
back  either,  for  they  would  fix  me  so  that  I  couldn't  give 
them  any  more  trouble.  He  said  I  ought  to  be  their  friend, 
but  instead  of  that  I  was  helping  to  bring  more  trouble  to 
them.  The  whites  he  accused  of  lying  to  them  and  rob 
bing  them  of  their  hunting  ground  and  forcing  them  to 


Trading  post  at  Fort  Hall  Indian  reservation,  Idano. 


204 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


Bureau  of  Indian  Affairs 
Piute  Indian  girl  carrying  corn  (Southern  Utah). 

work  at  something  they  knew  nothing  about.  They 
would  bear  it  no  longer ;  they  would  fight  first.  The 
old  chief  grew  angrier  as  he  went  on. 

"You  need  not  think  of  escaping  this  time,"  he  said  to 
me.  "We  intend  to  tie  you  to  that  tree  and  burn  you 
alive."  I  tried  to  reason  with  them,  telling  them  I  knew 
I  was  in  their  power ;  but  it  wouldn't  do  them  any  good 
to  kill  me.  If  they  did,  the  soldiers  would  soon  follow 
and  kill  the  last  one  of  them. 


Working  on  the  Indian  Reservation         205 

"We  are  not  afraid  of  the  soldiers,"  he  retorted.  "We 
would  rather  die  fighting  than  starve." 

"Well,"  I  replied,  "if  you  kill  me,  you  will  kill  one  of 
the  best  friends  the  Indians  ever  had." 

But  nothing  I  could  say  seemed  to  make  any  difference 
with  old  Sagwich.  He  was  determined  to  carry  out  his 
threat.  If  he  had  his  way  I  knew  he  would  do  it.  The 
other  Indians,  however,  were  not  so  devilish.  One  of 
them  gave  me  some  fresh  elk  meat,  and  I  went  back  to 
my  camp.  Things  looked  rather  black  for  me  that  night. 
My  only  hope  was  that  the  other  Indians  would  not  stand 
by  old  Sagwich. 

If  the  worst  came,  I  had  determined  to  sell  my  life  as 
dearly  as  possible.  The  Indians  held  a  council  that  night. 
We  kept  close  watch  till  morning,  but  as  no  one  offered 
to  harm  us,  we  began  to  feel  a  little  easier.  After  sad 
dling  our  horses,  I  told  Suarki  I  was  going  over  to  have 


Dr.  T.  M.  Bridges 
At  the  Indian  agency ;  squaw  with  papoose  in  Indian  cradle. 


206  The  White  Indian  Boy 

another  talk  with  them,  and  instructed  him  that  if  they 
made  a  move  to  kill  me,  he  should  leap  on  my  horse  and 
strike  for  home  to  tell  the  Indian  Agent. 

Old  Sagwich  was  so  sulky  he  wouldn't  even  speak  to  me. 
The  other  Indians,  however,  acted  better.  They  said 
nothing  of  what  had  been  decided,  but  that  day  they 
packed  up  and  took  the  trail  towards  home.  We  followed 
them.  On  our  way  down  the  river  we  came  upon  one  of 
the  Indians  fishing.  He  told  me  about  the  council.  Old 
Sagwich  was  stubborn  in  his  determination  to  kill  me, 
but  the  rest  wouldn't  consent  and  he  had  to  give  up  his 
bloody  plan. 

This  experience  made  me  feel  that  my  job  was  too 
risky  for  the  pay  I  was  getting.  The  Agent  wouldn't 
raise  my  wages,  so  I  quit  him  and  went  back  to  my  home 
at  Oxford,  Idaho. 


"  Two  Indians  were  behind  them,  both  on  an  old  horse  of  mine." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FIVE 

FRONTIER    TROUBLES 

LATER,  we  moved  back  into  the  Bear  Lake,  where  we 
made  our  home  for  twenty  years.  During  this  time  I 
was  often  called  on  to  do  dangerous  service  in  the  interest 
of  our  settlements.  After  the  Indian  troubles  were  over, 
we  had  outlaws  to  deal  with  who  were  worse  than  Indians. 
For  a  long  time  the  frontier  communities  suffered  from 
depredations  committed  by  cattle  rustlers  and  horse 
thieves.  Organized  bands  operated  from  Montana  to 
Colorado.  They  had  stations  about  a  hundred  miles 
apart  in  the  roughest  places  in  the  mountains.  They 
would  often  raid  our  ranges  and  steal  all  the  cattle  and 
horses  they  could  pick  up,  driving  them  into  their  moun 
tain  retreat.  They  got  so  daring  finally  that  they  even 
came  into  the  settlements  and  robbed  stores  and  killed 
men.  The  colonists  did  not  get  together  to  stop  these 
outrages  till  after  a  fatal  raid  was  made  upon  Montpelier, 
when  a  store  was  robbed  and  a  clerk  was  shot  dead. 
This  roused  the  people  of  the  valley  to  action.  Gen.  Charles 
C.  Rich  called  upon  the  leaders  of  the  towns  to  send  two 

207 


208  The  White  Indian  Boy 

men  from  each  settlement  —  the  best  men  to  be  had  — 
to  pursue  and  punish  the  outlaws.  Fourteen  men  re 
sponded  to  the  call,  among  them  four  of  the  leaders 
themselves.  It  fell  to  my  lot  to  be  one  of  this  posse. 

We  struck  across  the  mountains  east  of  Bear  Lake, 
following  the  trail  of  the  robbers  to  their  rendezvous  on 
the  Big  Piney,  a  tributary  of  the  Green  River.  We 
knew  that  they  had  hidden  themselves  in  this  country, 
for  two  of  the  men  with  us,  whose  stock  had  been  stolen, 
had  followed  the  robbers  to  their  den  to  recover  their 
property.  Finding  the  outlaws  in  such  force,  they  didn't 
dare  to  claim  their  stolen  stock  but  returned  to  Bear 
Lake  for  help. 

These  men  led  us  to  the  place  where  they  had  come 
upon  the  outlaws ;  but  the  outlaws  had  evidently  feared 
pursuit  and  moved  camp.  To  hide  their  tracks  they 
had  driven  their  wagons  up  the  creek  right  in  the  water 
for  over  a  mile.  Then  they  had  left  the  creek  and  driven 
up  a  little  ravine  and  over  a  ridge.  As  we  rode  up  this 
ravine,  to  the  top  of  the  ridge,  the  two  men  who  were  in 
the  lead  sighted  the  tepees  of  the  robbers  in  the  hollow 
below.  They  dodged  back  to  keep  out  of  sight,  and  we 
all  rode  down  into  the  thick  willows  on  the  Big  Piney,  hid 
ing  our  horses  and  ourselves  among  them.  The  two  men 
that  had  sighted  the  outlaw  camp  then  slipped  up  the  hill 
again  on  foot,  secreting  themselves  in  the  sagebrush  at  the 
top  of  the  ridge,  and  watched  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  to 
see  whether  the  outlaws  had  mistrusted  anything;  but 
they  showed  no  sign  of  having  seen  us.  At  dark  they 
came  and  reported. 

We  held  council  then  to  decide  what  plan  to  pursue  to 
capture  the  outlaws.  As  the  robbers  outnumbered  us, 
more  than  two  to  one,  and  were  well  armed,  it  was  serious 
business.  Our  sheriff  weakened  when  the  test  came ;  he 


Frontier  Troubles  209 

said  he  couldn't  do  it,  and  turned  his  papers  over  to 
Joseph  Rich,  as  brave  a  man  as  ever  went  on  such  a  trip. 
There  were  others  who  felt  pretty  shaky  and  wanted  to 
turn  back,  but  Mr.  Rich  said  we  had  been  picked  as  the 
best  men  in  Rear  Lake  and  he  didn't  feel  like  going  back 
without  making  an  attempt  to  capture  the  thieving  band. 
One  man  said  he  was  ready  to  go  cut  the  throats  of  the 
whole  bunch  of  robbers  if  the  captain  said  so,  but  Mr. 
Rich  said,  "  No ;  we  did  not  come  out  to  shed  blood.  We 
want  to  take  them  alive  and  give  them  a  fair  trial." 

Every  man  was  given  a  chance  to  say  how  he  felt. 
Most  of  us  wanted  to  make  the  attempt  to  capture  the 
outlaws,  and  the  majority  ruled. 

How  to  do  it  was  the  next  problem.  It  would  have 
been  folly  for  so  few  of  us  to  make  an  open  attack  on  so 
many  well-armed  men.  The  only  way  we  could  take 
them  was  by  surprise,  when  they  were  asleep.  This  plan 
agreed  upon,  Mr.  Rich  proposed  that  we  go  down  the  hill 
with  our  horses  and  pack  animals,  get  in  line  at  the  bottom, 
then,  just  at  the  peep  of  day,  charge  upon  their  camp, 
jump  from  our  horses,  run  into  their  tents  and  grab  their 
guns.  When  we  had  decided  on  this  plan  of  action,  Mr. 
Rich  said  that  this  probably  meant  a  fight.  If  it  did  we 
should  let  them  fire  first.  Should  they  kill  one  of  us,  we 
must  not  run ;  for  if  we  did  so  they  would  kill  us  all.  We 
should  give  them  the  best  we  had.  With  our  double-bar 
reled  shotguns  loaded  with  buckshot,  we  would  make 
things  pretty  hot  for  them  if  they  showed  fight. 

In  order  that  we  might  know  exactly  the  situation,  and 
have  our  tents  picked  out  beforehand,  so  as  not  to  get  in 
a  mix-up,  two  volunteers  were  called  for  to  go  down 
through  their  camp  in  the  night  and  get  the  lay  of  things. 
Jonathan  Hoopes  and  I  offered  to  go.  Their  tepees 
were  pitched  on  both  sides  of  a  little  stream,  which  was 


210  The  White  Indian  Boy 

deep  enough  for  us  to  keep  out  of  sight  by  stooping  a  little. 
Down  this  stream  we  stole  our  way,  wading  with  the  cur 
rent  so  as  not  to  make  any  noise,  till  we  got  right  among 
the  tepees.  The  biggest  one  was  pitched  on  the  brink  of 
the  stream.  We  could  hear  some  of  the  men  inside  of  it 
snoring  away  lustily.  Hoopes  reached  his  hand  up  and 
found  a  blanket  on  which  were  some  service  berries  spread 
out  to  dry.  Being  hungry,  we  helped  ourselves,  filling 
our  pockets  with  them.  After  taking  in  the  situation 
fully,  we  slipped  back  to  our  boys. 

There  were  seven  tents  in  all,  and  fourteen  of  us  —  two 
to  each  tent.  Hoopes  and  I  were  to  take  the  largest,  the 
other  boys  were  assigned  theirs.  We  waited  for  day  to 
break ;  just  as  it  did,  the  word  was  given ;  we  popped 
spurs  to  our  horses  and  away  we  went.  A  few  seconds 
and  we  had  leaped  from  them,  rushed  into  the  tents  and 
begun  to  grab  the  guns  from  the  robbers,  who,  wakened 
so  rudely,  stared  stupidly,  while  we  gathered  in  their 
weapons.  By  the  time  Hoopes  was  through  passing  them 
out  to  me,  I  had  my  arms  loaded  with  rifles  and  revolvers. 
Mr.  Bich  told  me  to  carry  them  up  the  hill  a  piece  and 
stack  them.  "Shoot  the  first  man  who  makes  a  move 
to  touch  them,"  was  his  order.  When  I  looked  around, 
there  sat  three  of  our  men  on  their  horses ;  they  hadn't 
done  their  duty,  so  some  of  the  tents  were  yet  untouched. 
I  told  Hoopes,  and  he  jumped  over  the  creek  to  one  of 
them.  I  was  just  gathering  up  some  weapons  I  had 
dropped  when  a  big  half-breed  made  a  jump  at  me,  grabbed 
my  shotgun  and  we  had  a  lively  tussle  for  a  few  minutes. 
He  might  have  got  the  better  of  me,  for  he  was  a  good 
deal  bigger  than  I,  but  Hoopes  jumped  to  the  rescue  and 
cracked  him  on  the  head  with  his  revolver  so  hard  that  it 
knocked  him  senseless  for  some  time* 

When  the  outlaws  rallied  themselves  enough  to  sense 


Frontier  Troubles 

what  had  happened,  they  broke  out  of  their  tents  in 
double-quick  time,  swearing  and  cursing  and  demanding 
what  we  wanted. 

Captain  Rich  told  them  to  keep  quiet,  that  they  were 
all  under  arrest,  that  we  had  the  advantage,  but  we  would 
not  harm  them  if  they  behaved  themselves.  Seeing  that 
it  was  useless  to  resist,  they  settled  down. 

The  captain  then  ordered  them  to  kill  a  calf  for  us,  as 
we  had  not  had  anything  to  eat  since  noon  the  day  before. 
They  obeyed  orders  and  we  soon  had  a  good  breakfast. 
Later  in  the  day  part  of  our  men  went  out  and  searched 
their  herds.  A  good  many  cattle  and  horses  belonging  to 
our  men  were  found  among  them. 

The  leaders  of  the  outlaws  were  not  in  this  band.  They 
were  off  making  another  raid  somewhere.  One  of  the 
band  of  outlaws  was  deaf  and  dumb.  Captain  Rich  took 
this  fellow  aside  and  carried  on  a  conversation  with  him 
by  writing.  From  the  man  he  learned  that  the  rest  of 
the  band  were  expected  in  that  night,  but  as  they  didn't 
come,  we  concluded  that  they  had  seen  us  and  were  lying 
off  in  the  hills  waiting  a  chance  to  ambush  us  and  rescue 
their  comrades.  We  were  too  sharp  to  give  them  the 
chance  to  do  that.  For  three  days  we  waited,  guarding 
our  prisoners.  Then,  as  we  thought  it  too  risky  to  try  to 
take  so  large  a  band  of  desperate  men  through  the  rough 
timbered  country  we  must  pass  to  get  home,  we  took 
forty  head  of  their  horses  as  bond  for  their  appearance  at 
court  in  thirty  days,  and  let  the  prisoners  go. 

When  we  were  ready  to  set  out,  we  carried  their  guns  to 
the  top  of  a  hill,  and  Hoopes  and  I  were  left  to  guard  the 
weapons  till  we  were  sure  our  men  were  far  enough  away 
to  be  safe ;  then  we  left  the  weapons  and  struck  out  for 
home  after  them. 

As  no  one  ever  came  to  redeem  the  horses,  they  were 


The  White  Indian  Boy 

sold  at  auction.  This  nest  of  outlaws  was  broken  up  for 
good  the  following  year.  Since  then  that  part  of  the  coun 
try  has  had  no  serious  trouble  with  horse  thieves  and  robbers. 

One  more  rather  exciting  experience  that  befell  me  and 
then  I  shall  close  these  stories  of  my  life  in  the  rugged 
West. 

It  happened  in  1870.  Jim  Donaldson,  Charley  Web 
ster,  or  "Webb,"  as  we  called  him,  and  I  were  taking  a 
peddling  trip  to  Fort  Stanbow,  the  soldier  post  that  was 
temporarily  established  near  South  Pass  for  the  protection 
of  the  miners  and  emigrants.  We  had  loaded  up  our 
three  wagons  with  butter,  eggs,  and  chickens. 

The  Sioux  Indians  were  then  on  the  warpath.  We  had 
been  warned  to  keep  an  eye  on  our  horses,  but  we  thought 
little  about  it  till  one  day  we  were  nooning  on  the  Big 
Sandy  —  about  where  Lot  Smith  burnt  the  government 
wagon  trains  —  when,  just  as  we  sat  down  to  eat,  "Webb" 
looked  up  to  see  our  horses,  which  we  had  turned  loose  to 
graze,  disappearing  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  Two  Indians  were 
behind  them,  both  on  an  old  horse  of  mine,  and  they  were 
whooping  the  others  across  the  hills  to  beat  time. 

Jumping  to  our  feet  we  dashed  after  them  afoot.  This 
was  useless,  of  course.  "Webb"  and  Donaldson  jerked 
out  their  revolvers  and  took  several  shots  at  the  rascals, 
but  they  were  out  of  revolver  reach  and  getting  farther 
away  every  second,  while  we  stared  and  damned  them. 

It  was  a  pretty  pickle  we  were  in  —  forty  miles  from 
nowhere,  with  three  wagons  loaded  with  perishable  stuff, 
and  not  a  horse  to  move  them.  We  got  madder  and  mad 
der  as  we  watched  the  thieving  devils  gradually  slip  out  of 
sight  beyond  the  sand  hills. 

Then  we  went  back  to  our  wagons  —  cussing  and  dis 
cussing  the  situation.  For  an  hour  or  more  we  tried  to 
puzzle  a  way  out  of  our  difficulty.  It  was  no  use.  The 


Frontier  Troubles  213 

more  we  worried  the  worse  it  looked.  All  the  money  I  had 
was  invested  in  those  eggs  and  butter  and  they  would  soon 
be  worse  than  nothing  in  the  hot  sun.  The  other  boys 
were  in  as  bad  a  fix  as  I  was.  We  just  couldn't  see  a  way 
out  of  it ;  but  we  kept  up  our  puzzling  till  suddenly  we 
heard  a  rumbling  noise. 

A  few  minutes  later  a  covered  wagon  drawn  by  a  pair  of 
mules  came  in  sight. 

An  old  man  —  "Boss  Tweed"  the  boys  had  nicknamed 
him  —  was  the  driver.  In  the  seat  with  him  was  a  boy, 
who  had  a  saddle  horse  tied  behind.  They  were  surely 
a  welcome  sight  to  us. 

We  told  them  of  our  trouble.  The  old  man  reckoned 
he  could  help  us  out.  He  proposed  that  we  load  the  sup 
plies  of  two  of  our  wagons  on  his  larger  wagon,  then  trail 
ing  our  other  wagon  behind,  his  old  mules  he  thought 
could  haul  us  into  South  Pass.  It  looked  like  our  only 
chance,  but  "Webb"  thought  he  had  a  better  plan. 

The  Indians,  he  said,  must  make  their  way  out  of  the 
country  through  a  certain  pass.  There  was  no  other 
route  they  could  escape  by.  If  we  three  would  take  the 
mules  and  boy's  horse  and  ride  hard  through  the  night,  we 
might  get  ahead  of  the  thieves  and  retake  our  horses. 

"Anything  for  the  best,"'  said  the  old  man;  but  the 
boy  objected.  We  shouldn't  take  his  horse.  He  started 
to  untie  his  animal,  but  we  stopped  him.  Our  situation 
was  a  desperate  one ;  he  had  to  give  in. 

We  unhitched  the  mules,  and  strapped  quilts  on  their 
backs.  Donaldson  and  I  jumped  on  them;  "Webb" 
took  the  horse.  Then  we  struck  the  trail  single  file,  my 
old  mule  on  lead  with  Jim  to  whip  him  up  and  "Webb" 
behind  him  to  whip  Jim's  mule.  It  was  a  funny  sight. 
I  never  meet  Jim  but  he  calls  up  that  circus  parade  loping 
along  over  the  hills  out  on  the  Big  Sandy. 


214 


The  White  Indian  Boy 


S.  N.  Leek,  Jackson,  Wyoming 

Uncle  Nick  (E.  N.  Wilson,  author  of  this  book),  lauding  a  big  trout  out 
of  Jackson  Lake,  Wyoming. 

The  old  mules  were  slow,  but  they  were  tough.  They 
kept  up  their  steady  gait  mile  after  mile  through  the  night. 
We  couldn't  see  any  trail  — just  the  gap  in  the  mountains 
against  the  sky  to  guide  us  as  we  loped  and  jogged  and 
jogged  and  loped  through  the  long  night. 

When  daylight  came  to  light  our  way,  we  found  our 
selves  at  the  place  where  the  trail  took  up  over  the  pass. 
Soon  it  forked,  the  two  branches  of  the  trail  going  up  two 


Frontier  Troubles  215 

ravines  which  were  separated  by  a  low,  narrow  ridge. 
We  saw  no  fresh  tracks  on  either  trail,  so  we  knew  the 
Indians  had  not  passed  this  point.  It  looked  as  if  we  had 
got  ahead  of  them  as  "Webb"  hoped. 

We  rode  up  one  ravine  about  a  mile  from  the  forks, 
keeping  out  of  the  trail  so  as  to  leave  no  tracks  to  alarm 
the  thieves  if  they  came  our  way.  Here  we  stopped  and 
"Webb"  went  up  on  the  ridge  to  where  he  could  overlook 
the  country  and  at  the  same  time  watch  both  trails.  Our 
plan  was  to  wait  till  we  found  out  which  trail  the  Red 
skins  took.  Then  we  could  post  ourselves  on  either  trail 
and  head  them  off  as  they  came  up  the  one  or  the  other 
ravine,  it  being  but  a  short  distance  between  the  trails. 

"Webb"  had  not  been  on  watch  long  before  he  sighted 
them  coming  about  six  miles  away.  He  waited  till  they 
reached  the  forks.  Luck  favored  us.  They  took  our 
trail.  Seeing  this  "Webb"  slipped  down  to  tell  us.  We 
hastily  hid  our  horses  in  the  tall  brush  that  bordered  the 
little  creek,  chose  a  place  where  the  big  birches  hung  over 
the  trail,  and  got  ready.  "Webb"  and  Donaldson,  having 
revolvers,  were  to  take  the  lead  Indian,  while  with  my 
rifle  I  was  to  settle  accounts  with  the  other. 

We  hadn't  long  to  wait  till  here  they  came  crowding 
our  horses  full  tilt  along  the  trail.  We  held  ourselves  till 
we  had  the  dead  drop  on  them,  then  we  all  fired.  My 
companions  both  caught  their  Indian  in  the  head.  I  took 
mine  right  under  the  arm.  Their  horses  jumped  and  they 
both  tumbled  off  so  dead  they  didn't  know  what  struck 
them.  It  may  seem  a  cruel  thing  to  do,  but  we  were  not 
going  to  take  any  chances. 

I  never  have  found  any  joy  in  killing  Indians.  And  I 
never  have  killed  any  except  when  circumstances  com 
pelled  it;  nor  have  I  ever  felt  like  boasting  about  such 
bloody  work.  These  rascals  certainly  deserved  what  they 


216  The  White  Indian  Boy 

got.  They  had  stolen  all  we  had  and  left  us  in  a  very  serious 
difficulty.  They  were  Sioux  Indians  who  were  escaping 
from  a  battle  with  the  soldiers  of  Fort  Stanbow. 

You  can  easily  believe  we  were  mighty  glad  to  get  back 
those  horses  and  strike  the  trail  again  towards  our  wagons. 
We  found  things  all  right  there.  The  old  man  had  taken 
good  care  of  our  produce  while  we  were  away.  He  was 
just  as  happy  as  we  were  over  our  success.  But  do  you 
think  he  would  take  any  pay  for  his  trouble?  Not  a 
i  cent.  It  was  pay  enough,  he  said,  to  feel  so  good  because 
he  had  helped  us  out  of  a  bad  fix.  When  we  got  to 
South  Pass,  however,  we  found  his  home  and  left  him 
some  supplies  with  our  good  wishes.  He  was  away  at  the 
time,  so  he  couldn't  object. 

The  boy  who  had  refused  us  his  horse  didn't  object, 
though,  to  taking  five  dollars  for  his  pay.  I've  always 
found  a  heap  of  difference  among  the  human  beings  one 
meets  in  his  travels. 


The  years  that  have  followed  these  wild  days  have  not 
been  so  filled  with  exciting  adventures,  yet  no  year  has 
passed  without  its  rough  and  trying  experiences;  for  it 
has  been  my  lot  to  live  always  on  the  frontier.  Even 
now  my  home  is  in  Jackson's  Hole  —  one  of  the  last  of  our 
mountain  valleys  to  be  settled.  In  1889  I  first  went  into 
this  beautiful  valley,  and  a  few  years  later  I  pioneered 
the  little  town  now  called  Wilson,  in  my  honor. 

It  was  here  that  I  was  brought  again  into  close  contact 
with  my  Shoshone  friends  —  the  Indians  from  whom  for 
many  years  I  had  been  all  but  lost.  In  1895,  when  the 
so-called  Jackson's  Hole  Indian  war  broke  out  and  several 
Indians  were  killed  and  others  captured  and  brought  to 
trial  for  killing  game,  I  was  called  on  to  act  as  interpreter. 
My  sympathies  went  out  to  the  Indians  at  this  time. 


Frontier  Troubles 


217 


They  were  misunderstood  and  mistreated  as  they  always 
have  been.  The  Indian  has  always  been  pushed  aside, 
driven,  and  robbed  of  his  rights. 

It  is  a  sad  thought  with  me  to  see  the  Redmen  giving 
away  so  rapidly  before  our  advancing  civilization.  Where 
thousands  of  the  Indians  once  roamed  free,  only  a  scat 
tered  few  remain.  The  old  friends  of  my  boyhood  days 
with  Washakie  have  almost  entirely  passed  away.  Only 
once  in  a  great  while  do  I  find  one  who  remembers  Yagaki, 
the  little  boy  who  once  lived  with  their  old  chief's  mother. 
But  when  I  do  happen  to  meet  one  —  as  I  did  last  year 
when  I  found  Hans,  a  wealthy  Indian,  who  lives  now  on 
his  ranch  at  the  Big  Bend  in  Portneuf  Canyon  —  then 
we  have  a  good  time,  I  tell  you-,  recalling  the  days  of  long 
ago  when  Uncle  Nick  was  among  the  Shoshones. 


Caspar  w.  Hodgson 

A  lily  pond  in  the  Yellowstone  Park,  which  was  part  of  the  land  of  the 
Shoshones. 


GLOSSARY 


EDITORIAL  NOTE.  The  Indian  words  and  definitions  given  in  this 
glossary  have  been  carefully  checked  by  a  scholar  of  national  reputa 
tion,  who  has  studied  the  Shoshone  language.  He  has  pronounced 
the  words  as  nearly  correct  as  one  can  represent  in  our  symbols  these 
differing  dialects  of  the  Indian  tribes.  It  has  been  the  effort  of  the 
editor  to  be  accurate,  but  it  is  difficult  to  give  exactly  the  sounds  of 
the  Indian  language. 


Angitapa  (An'gi-ta-pa').  Name 
applied  by  Shoshone  Indians 
to  Rock  Creek,  Idaho. 

Antelope  (an't£-lop).  Animal 
akin  to  the  deer,  a  native  of 
the  Western  plains  and  open 
mountain  valleys.  Commonly 
called  pronghorns.  The  North 
American  pronghorn  is  not  a 
true  antelope. 

Balzamoriza  (bal'za-mo-ri-za).  A 
species  of  plant  with  showy 
yellow  blossoms,  and  velvety 
leaves,  belonging  to  sunflower 
family.  Commonly  known  as 
"spring  sunflower."  The 
seeds  were  used  by  Indians  for 
food.  It  grows  about  one  foot 
high. 

Bannocks  (B&n'nocks  or  Pa/nooks). 
Tribe  of  western  Indians  allied 
to  Shoshones.  Dr.  Eobert 
Lowie,  of  the  American  Mu 
seum  of  Natural  History,  gives 
the  name  Banaite  as  the  one 
he  found  applied  by  the  Lemhi 
Indians  to  the  Bannocks. 

Chaps  (from  Spanish  -  American 
chaparajos).  Leather  or  sheep 
skin  leggings  worn  by  cow 
boys  to  protect  their  legs  from 
thorny  bushes  while  riding. 

Chief  Joseph.  Leader  of  Nez 
Perce"  Indians  during  sixties 
and  seventies^  who  with  Chief 


Looking-Glass  and  others  led 
his  tribe  in  a  revolt  against 
the  United  States,  and  after 
wards  fled  with  his  people 
towards  Canada,  but  was  over 
taken  by  soldiers  under  Gen 
eral  Miles,  captured,  and  held 
in  this  country. 

Coyote  (ki-o'te).  Animal  of  the 
wolf  family,  a  native  of  West 
ern  plains.  Picturesquely  de 
scribed  by  Mark  Twain  in  his 
Roughing  It. 

Echo  Canyon.  A  canyon  about 
twenty  miles  in  length,  leading 
from  southwestern  Wyoming 
westward  into  Utah.  Through 
this  canyon  ran  the  pony  ex 
press  and  overland  trail.  The 
canyon  is  so  named  because 
of  the  clear  echoes  made  by 
its  red  sandstone  cliffs. 

Fort  Hall.  The  first  Fort  Hall  was 
a  fur-trading  post  on  the  Snake 
River,  about  fifteen  miles  to 
the  north  of  Pocatello.  The 
second  Fort  Hall  was  a  mili 
tary  post  about  fifteen  miles 
to  the  east  of  original  site. 
The  third  and  present  Fort 
Hall  is  on  Ross's  Fork,  about 
ten  miles  northeast  of  Poca 
tello  on  Oregon  Short-line. 
Now  it  is  the  headquarters  of 
the  Indian  Agency  of  that 
name. 


219 


220 


Glossary 


Gosiutes  (Go'shutes).  Name  given 
to  scattered  bands  of  Indians 
living  in  the  deserts  of  western 
Utah  and  eastern  Nevada. 
"Go"  in  this  Indian  dialect 
is  said  to  mean  desert  or  waste 
place;  hence  Gosiutes  would 
mean  desert  Utes. 

Hanabi  (Han'a-bi).  Washakie's 
wife. 

Hogitsi  (Hog'it-se-).  Name  of  In 
dian  who  trapped  with  Uncle 
Nick. 

Jackson's  Hole.  One  of  the  splen 
did  valleys  in  western  Wyo 
ming,  lying  between  the  Con 
tinental  divide  and  the  Teton 
Mountains.  It  was  named 
after  Jackson,  an  old  moun 
taineer,  who  made  this  his 
rendezvous  while  trapping  and 
hunting. 

Koheets  (Ko'heets).  Indian  name 
for  the  curlew  (cur 'lew),  a 
Western  bird  of  the  plover 
family.  Name  given  by  In 
dians  also  to  a  stream  in  south 
ern  Idaho. 

Lemhi  (Lem'hi).  Name  given  to 
tribe  of  Indians  and  to  an 
early  fort  or  settlement  in 
central  eastern  Idaho,  near 
the  Salmon  River.  Indian 
reservation  there  was  aban 
doned  in  1907. 

"Lumpy  Dick."  A  kind  of  por 
ridge,  made  by  boiling  mois 
tened  flour  in  milk.  Used  in 
early  days  by  Western  pio 
neers. 


Morogonai  (Mor'o-go'ni).  An  old 
arrow  maker  and  a  retired 
chief  of  the  Shoshones  when 
Uncle  Nick  lived  among  them. 

Pantsuk  (P&nt'sook).  Name  of 
Uncle  Nick's  little  Indian 
brother. 

Parowan  (Par'6-wan).  Name  ap 
plied  to  tribe  of  Indians  in 
southern  Utah.  Also  name 
given  to  first  settlement  made 
in  the  same  part  of  that  state. 

Piatapa  (Pe'at-a-pa).  Name  given 
by  Shoshones  to  Jefferson 
River,  Montana. 

Pinto  (pin' to).  Painted,  mottled, 
or  vari- colored.  Many  of  the 
Indian  ponies  were  pinto 
ponies.  (See  pictures  on 
pages  11  and  54.) 

Piubi  (Pe'ub-e).  Name  of  one  of 
Washakie's  brothers  who  was 
killed  by  snowslide. 

Piupa  (Pe'u-pa).  Name  given  to 
Snake  River  by  Shoshones. 
Means  "Big  Water." 

Pocatello  (Po'ca-tel'lo).  Name  of 
one  of  leading  chieftains  of 
Shoshones.  He  did  not  agree 
with  Washakie  in  the  pacific 
policy  followed  by  the  latter 
chief.  Pocatello  protested  and 
fought  against  the  encroach 
ment  of  the  whites.  Poca 
tello,  Idaho,  was  named  after 
this  chief. 

Quaking  aspen.  A  tree  common 
in  the  mountains  of  the  West. 
Named  because  its  leaves  are 
ever  trembling.  Its  bark  is 
white  ;  the  tree  grows  some 
times  fifty  to  sixty  feet  in 
height.  Its  wood  is  for  fuel. 


Glossary 


Rawhide.  Untanned  skin  of  ani 
mals.  Strips  of  this  skin  were 
often  used  in  place  of  ropes 
and  strings  by  the  Indians 
and  pioneers  of  the  West 

Sagwich  (Sag'wich).  A  chief 
tain  of  Pocatello's  band. 

Sego  (se'go).  A  plant  of  lily  fam 
ily  common  throughout  the 
mountains  and  valleys  of  the 
West.  It  grows  from  a  small 
onion  -  like  bulb,  generally 
found  about  eight  inches  in 
the  ground.  This  bulb  was 
used  by  the  Indians  for  food. 
The  Utah  pioneers,  learning 
of  this  native  food  from  the 
Indians,  also  used  it  in  early 
days  when  provisions  were 
scarce.  The  sego  lily  has 
been  officially  chosen  as 
Utah's  State  flower.  It 
blooms  in  the  latter  part  of 
May,  and  is  used  extensively 
on  Decoration  Day.  Among 
the  interesting  spring  pastimes 
of  the  Western  boys  and  girls 
are  sego  digging  and  gathering 
sego  lilies.  Se'go  is  the  Indian 
name  for  this  plant. 

Service  berries.  Small  berries 
similar  in  size  and  color  to 
blueberries  and  huckleberries. 
Found  plentifully  in  the 
mountains  of  the  West.  They 
grow  on  bushes.  Used  by 
Indians  for  food.  Granny 
Pokiboro's  service  berry  bas 
ket  was  among  the  collection 
of  Shoshone  relics  pictured  on 
page  111. 

Shoshone  (Sho'sh5-n£).  Some 
times  spelled  Shoshoni.  Name 


applied  generally  to  Indians 
of  Utah,  Idaho,  and  Western 
Wyoming,  and  some  parts  of 
Eastern  Nevada.  Southern 
Shoshones  were  usually  spoken 
of  as  Ute  tribe.  "  Shoshone  " 
probably  means  "Snake." 
The  Shoshones  were  com 
monly  called  the  Snake  In 
dians  by  the  other  tribes 
and  the  early  pioneers  of  the 
West. 

Sioux  (Sod) .  Name  of  large  Indian 
tribe  of  the  northern  central 
plains. 

Sogwobipa(Sog-wob'bi-pa).  Name 
given  by  Shoshones  to  Mis 
souri  River. 

Suarki  (  Su-ar'ki) .  Name  of  young 
Indian  who  accompanied  Un 
cle  Nick  when  he  went  to 
bring  Sagwich  and  his  band 
back  to  the  reservation. 

Swap  (swap).  Means  to  trade, 
to  exchange. 

Tabby  (Tab-by).  Tabby  means 
the  sun.  Name  of  Gosiute 
Indian  who  lived  about 
Grantsville,  Utah,  in  the  early 
days  and  who  saved  Uncle 
Nick.  It  was  also  the  name 
of  a  chief  of  the  Utes. 

Tabop  (Ta-bop').  Letter  of  rec 
ommendation  given  to  Indians. 
They  used  such  letters  at 
times  when  they  would  come 
asking  for  food. 

Tepee  (te'pee,  also  ti'pi).  Name 
applied  to  cone-shaped  tent 
used  by  Western  Indian  tribes. 
Made  in  earlier  days  of  buf 
falo  robes  or  elk  skins  ;  now 
made  of  canvas. 


Glossary 


Teton  Mountains  (Te'ton) .  Name 
of  mountain  range  on  western 
edge  of  Wyoming.  The  Teton 
Peaks  (see  picture  facing  page 
1)  are  famous  the  world  over. 
The  Grand  Teton  is  about 
14,000  feet  high. 

Titsapa  (Tit'se-pa).  Name  given 
to  the  Bear  River,  a  stream 
which  rises  in  northeastern 
Utah,  flows  through  part  of 
Wyoming  and  Idaho,  and 
finally  finds  its  way  back  into 
Utah  and  empties  into  the 
Great  Salt  Lake. 

Tobitapa  (T5'b6-ti-pa).  Name 
given  by  Indians  to  the  Port- 
neuf,  a  branch  of  the  Snake 
River.  The  Portneuf  rises 
in  southeastern  Idaho  and 
flows  through  the  Portneuf 
Canyon  past  Pocatello  and 
empties  into  the  Snake  River 
about  ten  miles  northwest  of 
this  city. 

Tosaibi  (To'se-a/bi).  Name  given 
springs  in  southeastern  Idaho. 
The  water  of  these  springs  is 
a  kind  of  natural  soda  water. 
They  are  used  by  many  for 


medicinal  purposes.  Tosa  or 
Tose  means  white.  The  sedi 
ment  from  these  springs  makes 
whitish  mounds. 

Tosenamp  CTo'se-namp') .  White- 
foot.  Tose  (white),  namp 
(foot).  Name  given  to  Indian 
who  worked  for  Uncle  Nick's 
father. 

Umbaginny  (Um'ba-jin-ny) .  A 
Gosiute  Indian  killed  by  the 
whites  for  cattle  stealing  in 
early  days. 

Washakie  (Wash'^-ke').  Name  of 
chief  of  the  Shoshones  from 
about  1850  until  his  death 
about  1890. 

Wickiup  (wick'i-iip).  Name  given 
to  brush  huts  and  other  rude 
shelters  built  by  the  Indians 
out  West. 

Yagaki  (YS'gi-ke).     Name  given 

by  Indians    to    Uncle  Nick. 

Means  "the  crier." 
Yaibi  (Yl'bi).    Name    of  one  of 

Washakie's  brothers  killed  by 

a  snowslide. 


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CONSERVATION   SERIES 


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Lecturer,     University    of    California;    Geography   Supervisor    Berkeley 
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